


Miracle Max

by Moosepelheim



Series: Limerence [1]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky and his plums, Captain America - Freeform, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers is the Mom Friend, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Then Break It Again, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, then fix it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosepelheim/pseuds/Moosepelheim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve gets Bucky out five minutes sooner and it changes everything--Bucky's never captured and the team never comes to blows. But there are new challenges the team must face as a consequence of Steve's divided loyalties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mostly dead is slightly alive.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is my first, and I don't have the benefit of an editor, so it is rough. Please forgive grammatical or spelling errors, or point them out to me gently so I may fix them. 
> 
> Tags will change as chapters are added.
> 
> Obviously I own none of these characters.

Steve stands in Bucky’s apartment in Bucharest and feels a strange mixture of pride and despair.

The pride comes from the knowledge that Bucky is trying to be a person. The evidence is scarce but unmistakable; the stash of candy and junk food that is piled on top of the fridge indicates that Buck still has a sweet tooth the size of the Empire State, and the knowledge is like glimpsing the sun through a crack in grey winter clouds; the row of shelves made from cinder blocks and rescued planks which holds a strange assortment of junk that is arranged neatly, like they’re treasures. Steve doesn’t spare much time to look, but his brief glance registers some hair ties, foil gum wrappers that are folded neatly into little origami animals, a glass marble, and a small broach that is missing some rhinestones, but which sparkles prettily in the dim light filtering through the newspaper covered windows.

The despair washes over him when he looks at the small mattress with the sleeping bag and stained pillow (Steve’s sheets at home are probably a sin they’re so soft, and Bucky only has a worn sleeping bag; the sad nest means Bucky probably _sleeps_ though, or tries to, and that’s good, Steve reminds himself), the mildewed walls with torn wallpaper, the chipped dishes, but worst of all the little book nestled away under the piles of candy. Steve opens it, scanning the rows of Buck’s neat handwriting, but is unable to parse the sentences that seem to be in English yet make no sense. Code perhaps, or maybe Bucky went insane.

In the middle of the book Steve finds a pamphlet from the travelling Captain America exhibit, the one that Steve had gone to shortly before everything went to shit. Before he learned that Bucky was dead in the ways that mattered most.

 _Mostly dead is slightly alive_ , Steve thinks. Sam had made him watch _Princess Bride_ in the aftermath of all of that, insisting on giving Steve his guest room and mothering him, and it hurt and helped in equal measure. Steve had entertained revenge fantasies after that, thoughts of storming the scattered Hydra bases and screaming “My name is Steve Rogers, you killed my Bucky, prepare to die.”

Mostly dead is slightly alive, and maybe with a miracle…

Lost in maudlin thoughts (always so dramatic) Steve almost misses the small creak in the floorboards that Bucky makes to announce his return. Steve turns quickly, a flash of guilt passing through him as he notices Bucky’s eyes dropping down to the journal that is still clutched in his hand.

Bucky.

His hair is still long but it’s clean. He hasn’t shaved but he doesn’t appear ungroomed, managing to look more like a rock star than a vagrant. Steve’s greatest fear was that Bucky would be malnourished but Bucky appears healthy, like he has managed to gain weight. Bucky steps towards the counter and places a small bag of plums on top, gazing at Steve with trepidation but no animosity. No hatred.

Steve allows a small curl of hope to bloom in his chest.

“Do you know me?”

Such a simple question and yet Steve knows that no matter how Bucky answers it’s going to be devastating. If Bucky doesn’t know him it will feel like a knife in the gut. If Bucky does know him, has known him the entire time and never reached out to him, it will be a fucking grenade in his chest. Steve can see Bucky considering his answer and knows the truth before Bucky even opens his mouth.

“You’re Steve… I read about you in a museum,” Bucky says, his eyes dead and his mouth curled down sadly.

 _Fucking liar, fucking goddamn liar, you son of a bitch_ , Steve doesn’t say. He’s so mad that under normal circumstances he’d gladly beat the shit out of Bucky until the truth came welling up with the blood. But time is extremely limited and Steve has to get Bucky out of here before he gets put down like a rabid dog. He sucks it up and plays nice, but he’s saving the yelling for later. Bucky is gonna get the fucking lecture of a lifetime.

“I know you’re nervous,” you lying shit, “and there’s plenty of reasons to be, but you’re lying. You know me.”

Bucky tries to deny it but Steve doesn’t have patience. Sam is on the roof, scouting for activity. A traffic situation is working in their favor and the tactical vehicles carrying the strike force are caught behind a couple of very convenient accidents. Steve knows it’s bought maybe five minutes. They have to move, but Steve has to know.

“You pulled me out of the river. Why?”

“I don’t know…” Bucky won’t meet his gaze and Steve clenches his fist.

“You’re lying.”

Bucky says nothing and Steve bites his tongue hard.

“Get your stuff, we have to leave before the strike force gets here. They’ve been ordered to shoot you on sight,” Steve says.

Bucky nods and swallows, “That’s smart,” he murmurs and Steve wants to hit him again. “Good tactic.”

“Now,” Steve growls. Bucky marches over to one side of the kitchen, punches through the floorboards, and retrieves a black backpack. He takes the journal from Steve and tucks it into the front pocket.

“How much time?” Bucky asks, following Steve out the door and into the stairwell.

“Minutes, maybe,” Steve says, and in the interest of getting out of the building quickly and efficiently, vaults over the bannister and lands a couple flights down. He hears Bucky curse gently before following, landing heavily beside Steve. They get halfway down the building before Bucky grabs Steve and drags him towards an exit that leads to a balcony.

“Better if we avoid the ground. Civilians,” Bucky explains, and then takes a running leap over the balcony, landing about forty feet below. It’s Steve’s turn to curse, but he follows immediately. Sam’s alert comes seconds later, the strike force finally reached Bucky’s nest, but Steve and Bucky are already three rooftops away. 

~*~

Sam considers himself to be a patient man. You have to be when you’re friends with Steve Rogers, who is the biggest fucking drama queen in the world. People don’t know that about Steve and Sam doesn’t tell ‘em. Knowing secrets about Captain America would make his thirteen year old fanboy spontaneously combust with pride, but now? People that know Steve, really know Steve and not the shiny Captain America “Steve” that is brought out for strangers and television, know that Rogers is frustrating as hell. It’s not that cool.

Sam knows that Steve is smart, he knows that Steve has common sense and a fine tuned self-preservation instinct. It’s just that Steve has decided that he really, really wants to be an idiot instead. Usually when Barnes enters the equation. And Sam is helpless, because Steve is Steve (Sam pretends it’s about Captain America—he knows that that’s just a cover, though; Sam and Steve would have been soulmates even if Captain America had never existed, and Steve had just been a simple guy). Sam will follow Steve into hell, because Steve doesn’t know how to give up; Riley didn’t know how to give up either, and Sam wonders what it says about him that he devotes his life to saving people who live their lives playing a game of chicken with God on a daily basis. Probably nothing good.

So, when Steve asks for Sam’s help in tracking down the sullen faced Winter Soldier Sam prepares himself to watch Steve burn. Sam will stay in the fire with Steve because Sam is stupid too and he loves Steve too much. They’ll both be consumed by the explosion that is Bucky Barnes and then Sam will drag them out again. He’ll piece Rogers back together. They’ll figure it out.

Sam is not prepared for Bucky to be coherent and cooperative.

Rogers and Barnes waltz into the abandoned warehouse that’s acting as a temporary base of operations. While it’s currently vacant, it shows signs of recently being colonized by teenagers, drug addicts, and giant fucking rats, which Sam is having a real hard time dealing with. Shoot at him, rip his wings off, stab him, but don’t make him deal with rats.

Sam tries really hard not to reach for a weapon because he wants to do right by Steve but his hand drifts down anyway and Bucky is immediately reaching for a weapon of his own. Sam’s only human and this guy fucking threw him off a helicarrier.

“Stand the fuck down,” Steve says, looking at both of them. The uncharacteristic use of profanity has the intended effect of shocking Sam and Barnes out of their mutual hostility. They relax away from their weapons and focus on trying to kill each other with their minds instead.

“Buck, this is Sam,” Steve says, gesturing towards Sam.  “Sam, this is Buck.”

“What, you want us to shake hands or somethin’, Cap?” Buck says, raising an eyebrow. “I tried to kill him. I don’t think he appreciates you pretending like I’m not a fucking threat.”

“You’re not a threat,” Steve says immediately.

“The hell I ain’t,” Barnes says at the same time that Sam says “The hell he ain’t.”

Steve makes angry noises at Sam but Sam thinks that Bucky looks gratified that Sam has agreed with him.

“Your friend is smart,” Bucky says, finally, and that shuts Steve up. Olive branch. Barnes seems to be trying. Fucking hell, Sam can’t leave him hanging.

“Yeah, well, someone has to be the brains in the operation. It sure as hell isn’t Steve,” Sam says. Barnes smirks and tension drops immediately. Sam knows that Barnes might be deadly but he’s definitely Barnes and not the Winter Soldier. At least for now.

“Oh, great, now I’m gonna get it in stereo,” Steve groans.

“I thought you wanted us to play nice,” Barnes says, flicking a stunning grin at Steve. _Oh man_ , Sam thinks. Steve is grinning back, dazzling and young in a way that he’s never been before, but then his expression darkens. He turns his back on Barnes and walks away, into the back room that they’re sleeping in. Barnes frowns after Steve but doesn’t follow.

Sam rocks back and forth on his heels, wishing he could follow Steve but knowing he shouldn’t. Steve is feeling emotions and it’s best to let those storm clouds pass in solitude. The man can be such an asshole when he’s processing stuff and Sam’s pretty certain there is a lot of stuff to process. The fact that Barnes obviously knows him is a double edged sword that Steve is probably repeatedly impaling himself on.

“Sooo…” Sam says, raising an eyebrow at Barnes. “You’re… not as stabby as I thought you’d be.”

Barnes’ passive expression goes even blanker somehow and Sam worries for one second before Barnes barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, well, these days I’m tryin’ to resolve my conflicts with words before resorting to violence,” he says. Great, he’s a smartass just like Steve.

“You hungry? I got some leftover sarmale,” Sam offers.

Bucky nods as he lowers his bag, opening the top and fishing around inside. The worry creeps back under Sam’s skin until Bucky straightens and hands him a bag filled with seven perfectly ripe plums. They eat in silence, ignoring the sound of Steve breaking things in the other room.

~*~

It’s not that Bucky didn’t want to reach out to Steve. The part of him that is Bucky wanted nothing more than to go home and home is Steve. Home has always been Steve. But Bucky isn’t the only person in his head. He’s also the Asset and some third thing he doesn’t identify. His brain is like a fuckin’ iceberg and the part that he’s aware of versus the shit that’s barely staying under the surface...

The serum in his veins has been healing his mind, returning memories in dribs and drabs. It was jarring at first but he feels less and less alarmed the more he gets used to his mind piecing itself back together. He dutifully writes down new memories, does research when he can to try and verify the memories that are worth verifying, and ignores some of the memories that are better left alone. The rest of the time he just… lives. Maybe not as well or as fully as people who weren’t hollowed out, but he’s doing it. He’s making himself a person again.

He’ll probably never fully remember everything but he doesn’t feel pity for himself. He’s practical enough to know that he’s got more than he could have hoped for.

The part of him that is Barnes, Catholic and human, wants to feel guilt.

The part of him that is the Asset is like a blind man given sight and set before the ocean—freedom is confusing, frightening, so epic, but… he’d kill a million people for this feeling, this new sensation that is overwhelming and addictive.

God, Barnes had forgotten chocolate. He’d forgotten the taste of beer, honey, sex warmed skin. The sound of music (Jazz in a smoky bar, a choir at a church he attended briefly in Italy, and even the tepid jingles that accompany commercials). It feels like he’s been reborn.

In the past two years he’s lived so much, embracing hedonism like a cherished friend. Embracing hedonism the way he wants to embrace Steve but can’t.

He didn’t lie, really, when he tried to say he didn’t know Steve, didn’t remember him really. He does and he doesn’t.  Bucky changed but Steve changed too. Even before he fell from the train there was tension, jealousy, and something else weighing down on him, making their easy friendship difficult and awkward. It wasn’t just because of the outside changes, which were shocking enough. Steve changed inside too. Before, Steve had been just as angry and directionless as Bucky. It was them against the world. But Steve had a purpose now, a steady drive that focused the anger and left Bucky feeling wrong footed and alone. Steve was gonna save the world and Bucky was just along for the ride, a side kick when he was used to leading. It rankled.

And then seventy years. A lifetime. Yeah, Bucky was asleep for a lot of it and the times he wasn’t asleep was mostly spent being emptied out and used, but he’s still been awake longer than Steve. He’s done more, seen more, been more. He’s a different person. Hell, he’s three different people, most days.

Bucky is a misanthrope but he’s trying to be human. He knows that Steve is probably still alive because of Sam so he’s trying to keep his hostility in check. The part of him that is still The Asset knows how to keep his captors happy and that’s what he’s relying on right now. Muscle memory is keeping him from being overly offensive, allowing him to read Sam’s mood enough to keep up a mindless conversation about Romanian cuisine. Almost pleasant.

Steve has gone quiet in the back room and Bucky is resisting the urge to get up and make sure Steve hasn’t hurt himself. Steve is a real asshole when he’s feeling things and Bucky doesn’t think he can handle it right now. He doesn’t know how to comfort Steve anymore.

Sam seems to sense the drift in his thoughts and turns to look over his shoulder at the doorway that Steve disappeared into an hour ago.

“He’ll probably sulk for another hour, give you a loud ‘lecture’ followed by a gentle hand on your shoulder, and then it’ll be like nothing happened,” Sam says, turning back. Bucky snorts.

“Nah, not this time,” he says. “This ain’t gonna be fixed with a fight. I don’t think there’s anything to fix, which is the problem.”

“You remember him, though,” Sam says, frowning.

“Yeah, I remember everything, but… we’re different people now. I don’t know how to be his friend,” Bucky says, wondering why he’s talking to Sam about this.

“It’s not that hard,” says Sam, smirking at him. “You rescue him when he gets himself into trouble, you yell at him when he’s being dramatic, and you clap him on the shoulder when he gets choked up. Rest of the time, you talk shit to him, and call it good. He’s simple.”

Bucky laughs but it hurts a little. “Yeah, I don’t know if I can do any of that anymore.”

“Well, if you can’t he’ll still follow you to the end of the earth, Barnes,” says Sam, leaning forward. “I’m gonna say this once, and you’re not gonna repeat it to anyone, ever.”

Bucky nods, unconsciously mimicking Sam and leaning forward.

“I love that man,” Sam starts, and something twists inside Bucky. “I wasn’t doing well, before I met him. I didn’t admit it until… until later, until I saw how I was with Steve and how I was before Steve. He brought me back to life, gave me a chance to be the self I still wanted to be. He’s an asshole, but he’s my asshole. I was mad at you for a long time for hurting him, breaking his heart. Still mad at you. I don’t like you, because… because Steve looks like a kicked dog every time you come up in conversation. But he smiled at you, when you were talking shit to him, and it was like that part in Wizard of Oz where everything goes from black and white to color. You did that, man. You made him look like that.”

Bucky can’t look at Sam anymore, his eyes drift to the floor and he sits back.

“The thing about Steve is that you don’t even have to try, Barnes. Whatever you are, whoever you are… Steve wants you with him. Maybe you are different, maybe you aren’t really Barnes, but Steve saw enough to drag your sorry ass outta that place and bring you here. If you’d been someone else, I think he would have saved you still, because he’s Steve, but he wouldn’t be so angry. You followed him. You know him. He knows you. It’ll be enough.”

Bucky can’t say anything so he grabs another plum and concentrates on the taste and texture, escaping into the spark of pleasure that starts on his tongue and tingles into his jaw and along his scalp. It’s tart and sweet, and better than the bitterness he feels. He doesn’t hate Sam, can’t hate someone that loves Steve so much, but he sure as fuck resents him. Resents whatever he has with Steve, even if he won’t let himself think about why.

A movement at the doorway drives a spike of adrenaline through Bucky’s chest but he calms down when he sees that it’s just Steve, finally done with sulking. Sam turns and pats the milk crate next to him, inviting Steve over.

Steve looks like shit. He’s been crying and his knuckles are bloody. Sam hands him a plum and Steve bites into it savagely, very carefully not looking at Bucky. Bucky rolls his eyes, affection and irritation mixing together, and realizes that Steve might not have changed that much after all. Sam is right about how it’s going to play out. Sulking will lead to yelling will lead to a gentle hand on the shoulder and an assurance that… 'til the end of the line. Bucky can’t handle hearing it. If Steve tries to say it, Bucky’s going to punch him in the mouth.

“Plums are good,” Steve says, licking juice off his bottom lip.

“In season,” grunts Bucky. He dives into his bag again and pulls out a bar of chocolate, breaking off a piece for Sam and a piece for Steve.

 It’s nice to have something to share with people, he finds, and the feeling sparks a memory from during the war. A little girl in a small town in France had given him a bag of boiled sweets and Bucky had shared them with the commandos around the fire that night. Everyone had been so delighted, so Bucky started trying to make sure he had something nice to give the boys as frequently as possible. Just little things to keep spirits up.

He grabs his journal and dutifully writes down the memory, and the event that triggered it. He’s filled four journals this way and someday he’ll take them all out and line up the memories and try to see if he can make sense of his life. For right now he’s just trying to gather all the pieces.

He can feel Steve staring at him but he ignores the feeling. He’s not going to make eye contact, because that will be the opening for Steve to start yelling at him. He’s not going to look. He’s not.

He looks up, drawn into the gravity of Steve, like always. Steve holds his gaze, blue eyes filled with anger and other emotions. He opens his mouth and Bucky winces internally, but then Steve drops his gaze, mouth closing in a firm line.

“I’m gonna walk the perimeter, make sure we’re good, and then I’m gonna get some shut eye,” he says quietly, standing up and leaving before Sam or Bucky can say anything.

“Hm, that’s probably not good,” says Sam, echoing Bucky’s thoughts out loud.

~*~

Tony knows he’s pretty fucked up because he’s a smart man. He doesn’t do anything about it because he’s also a stupid man. He tried talking to Bruce once, because he trusts Bruce, but it didn’t really help. Bruce insists he’s not “that kind of doctor”, but Tony can’t go to “that kind of doctor” anyway, so it should have worked. Whatever.

Tony allows himself to miss Bruce for a moment, feeling the pain in his chest where the arc reactor used to be.

He walks a tightrope daily over a chasm of issues that threaten to drown him should he fall. The precarious balance he maintains comes from the strength of the family that he has with Pepper, Rhodey, and the Avengers. But he also carries a complete set of family issues (mint in the box), so it’s not great that his main coping mechanism relies upon a system that he doesn’t trust, a concept he can’t truly understand.

When Pepper asked to take a break the Avengers kept him above water long enough to claw his way back up out of the pit.

But now…

Steve. Fucking perfect Steve, with his perfect teeth and his moral compass that is never really called into question. Why is Tony always the one that has to defend himself? He knows that Natasha has sided with him against Steve because she has a thing about appearances. He knows she wants to tell the UN to fuck off as much as Steve does, but Tony is still grateful for anything he can get. He’s grateful for Vision back at home, keeping Wanda safe. Grateful that Clint stayed out of it, even if it hurts to think about never being on the field with him again.

He just wants to keep his family together. He couldn’t save his parents but he has a chance to save Steve and the Avengers and instead Steve turns and runs away to save Barnes. The man who shot Steve three times and beat his face in, that shot Natasha years ago, that tried to kill Fury twice (and Tony hates to admit it, but Fury is part of his family too—like a very weird, very grumpy, potentially immortal uncle that Tony loves anyway. Seriously, end of the world you’ll find Nick Fury trying to order the cockroaches around).

The only thing Tony really wants is a family but it’s like the universe keeps telling him no. No, Tony. You don’t deserve it. Well, maybe he doesn’t deserve it but he still wants it and he doesn’t know how to do anything except try to get what he wants. Usually with minimum efficiency and maximum casualties.

Fuck, he never does anything right. The wave of self-loathing takes a couple seconds to stick in his throat and accelerate the beating of his heart.

So, he’s going to try to save Steve even though Steve is an idiot because Steve is… Steve is the closest thing besides Rhodey to a brother that Tony has. Someone that he can hate and love in the same moment, someone that he knows he can trust beyond a shadow of the many, many doubts that plague him, someone that understands who he is. Tony wishes he could go back to a moment when he hated Steve but it’s not possible. Steve is family, forever, and even though he’s breaking Tony’s heart, Tony will sacrifice everything for him if it really comes down to it.

“Barnes wasn’t at his apartment,” Natasha tells him as she walks in.

“Guess we spooked the spook?” Tony quips.

“Or Steve got there first.”

Tony grimaces but that’s probably exactly what happened.

“I hope he’s happy,” says Tony, and even he isn’t sure if he means that sarcastically or genuinely. Natasha gives him a look but doesn’t say anything.

“I hope not,” says Thaddeus Ross, stalking into the room. “If Steve is assisting a wanted criminal, _the_ wanted criminal, than we need to consider issuing a kill order for Rogers too.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” warns Tony. He notices Natasha running a finger over her wrist and wonders if she’s got a hidden weapon. He frowns at her and she smiles at him.

“No, I don’t want to do that,” agrees Ross. “But if the UN decides that Rogers is a threat…”

“I’ll get Rogers on board sir, and I’ll get Barnes,” Tony promises. He’s going to clean this mess up, he’s not going to lose his family. He feels the beginnings of a panic attack and hopes that Ross is nearly done trying to threaten and posture.

“You better. You have 36 hours to bring them in before I have to assume Rogers is a fugitive aiding Barnes.”

“Sure thing,” Tony nods, and thankfully Ross leaves.

Panic swells as soon as the door is closed and Natasha walks over and helps Tony get his breathing under control.

“Tony, we’re going to get through this. You’re going to get through this. Steve is going to get through this. We always find a way,” she says.

“ _Steve_ finds a way,” Tony gasps, and they both know it’s true. Tony is a genius when it comes to some things (most things, really), but tactics? Politics? Paying attention to the mundane details? That’s all Steve. Beyond that, Steve knows how to inspire people. Tony can lead people along a train of thought, painfully explaining each detail until they arrive at the conclusion he made light years ago. But Steve can make them think on their own, get them to come up with out of the box ideas that make the difference between eating shawarma as a team at the end of the day and burying an Avenger.

“We have to try anyway,” Natasha says. “I’m not going to lose my family.”

And Tony thinks _maybe she didn’t just side with me ‘cause it was easier,_ and the thought that Natasha needs the Avengers as much as he does, that they’re both orphans who want a family… Tony feels a little less like he’s drowning and he grasps upwards, climbing back up to his tightrope.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, once Tony has stopped hyperventilating.

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know,” Tony says, but it doesn’t make him panic. Tony will do anything to save his family. They’ll figure it out together.

~*~

Helmut Zemo allows himself five minutes to seethe when he learns that Barnes and the Captain have disappeared. Barnes is essential to his plan. Zemo cannot fail; he made a promise.

Five minutes elapse and then he calms down instantly, allowing the molten rage to cool back into the iron of his will. Success is the only outcome possible and he knows that he has the one thing every “villain” that has attempted to destroy the Avengers lacks: conviction.


	2. R.O.U.S.'s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

Bucky rouses himself once he senses that Steve and Sam have fallen asleep. He becomes the ghost, ready to disappear. He grabs his bag and the last plum and heads off into the night. After he hikes into the mountains he’ll figure out what his next step is, but no way in hell is he going to stay with Steve. Something bad is happening, is going to happen, and he isn’t going to let Steve throw himself on the grenade that is Bucky’s life.

He miscalculates when he forgets how stupid Steve is.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Steve’s voice warns, angry and low, when he’s halfway up the chain link fence that borders the warehouse.

Bucky nearly crawls out of his skin, heart beating hard enough he gets a little dizzy. He spins around, gazing at Steve with a mixture of incredulity and anger.

“Sneak up on the super assassin, great fucking plan, Cap,” he hisses, dropping down to stalk over and jab a finger into Steve’s stupidly massive chest. “I could have killed you.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Steve says, so sure. He even tilts his stubborn chin up slightly. Bucky wants to punch him in the mouth (or do something to that mouth—he shuts down that line of thought quickly), but the thought of punching Steve brings back memories of the helicarrier when Steve almost let Bucky kill him. Steve had invited it, told him to finish.

“I’m leaving and you won’t stop me,” Bucky says as he walks back towards the fence, but it’s more of a plea than an order.

“Is that so?” Steve says, and his smile is wicked and angry.

“Please, Steve.”

“No,” Steve says, and the gauntlet has been thrown. “If I have to chase you down one more time, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind, Buck. I went behind enemy lines, alone, against laser cannons and Nazis to get you back. I’ve been running after you for two years now into every HYDRA den we could scrounge up, terrified that I'd find you there. Or not find you there. You knew me this whole fucking time, and you never…” Steve stops, gasping for breath like he’s about to have an asthma attack. 

Bucky drops his bag and runs back, helping Steve ease down onto the ground and directing his head gently between his knees. Bucky rubs his back and places the cold metal of his left hand against Steve’s neck. His hand is good for things besides killing, and Bucky has been keeping a list. He likes to recite all the things his hand is good for when he feels like giving up and walking into the ocean to end it all. He’s going to add this to the list later (“my hand can be used to comfort Steve”) and use it as a balm for his heart when he finally manages to escape.

“It’s not because I didn’t want to see you,” Bucky says, giving into the moment. He wanted to be gone before this conversation took place, he wanted to be selfish, but Steve is trembling under his hands and he can’t leave his friend in pain without explaining why. “I wanted to fix myself _by_ myself. I wanted to figure out what I was and how I fit into the world without being in your shadow. If I’d come back, I’d be Cap’s sad friend who _used_ to be Bucky Barnes, broken and twisted. Or a criminal that needed to be put in a cell. Or put down, maybe. Either way I’d never be allowed to be independent or--”

“It kinda sounds like you didn’t want to see me,” Steve says, managing to be sardonic and wounded at the same time.

“I always want to see you, Steve. But I want to see Steve, _my_ Steve. _You’re_ a goddamn superhero who throws yourself into the middle of fights that are still too much for you, no matter how strong you are now. You’re Captain America, and you’re too much for me,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to fight people anymore. I don’t want to watch you try to kill yourself anymore, Steve.”

“I don’t try to--”

“Valkerie,” says Bucky, and takes the opportunity to slap Steve upside the head. “You fucking moron.”

“There was no way I could have--”

Bucky slaps him again before he can finish, and Steve stops trying to protest.

“I’ll retire,” says Steve in a small voice.

“I don’t want that either. You’ve always wanted to be strong enough to protect the world from bullies, and I’m not going to let you miss your chance to do that.”

“But I want you in my life,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky with sad eyes.

“Someday, maybe, but… I want to be free, Steve. I don’t want to do that stuff anymore, and if you’re with me I can’t stop. If someone comes for you, and they always come for you, I’m going to kill them. You don’t need me for that, you have Sam to watch your six. Please let me be selfish right now. Let me get out before I get more blood on my hands.”

“I don’t want you to hurt people either, but Bucky you’re in danger right now. This is happening, and we have to deal with this. They think you blew up the UN. There are people that want you dead. You say you can’t walk away when I need you, but that goes both ways. After… after your name is cleared, after all this stuff is over, you can… I’ll let you go. I’ll let you be selfish, and if you never speak to me again I’ll live with that. I’ll be happy just knowing you’re safe and alive, eating plums and chocolate and—you have to get real sheets, man. That sleeping bag is the saddest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen and this is coming from a man that thought “fondue” was a fancy French word for “sex”. You’re more pathetic than I am, Bucky,” Steve says, eyes glinting up at Bucky. They share a quiet laugh and then spend a few minutes in a silence that is strangely comfortable, almost like they’re the same people they used to be.

“We finish this and then you’ll really let me disappear again?” Bucky asks taking his metal hand away from Steve’s neck now that it’s no longer cold, but leaving his other hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Buck, of course I will. It’ll break my heart, but I’d never want you to be miserable,” he says. “Please, please let me stand with you, this last time.”

“Fuck,” says Bucky, giving in and letting Steve win.

They lapse into silence again, which Bucky is grateful for. They haven’t been this close in a long time, but distance and time have not dulled whatever it is that pulls them together. As annoying as Wilson is, Bucky is grateful for his presence because it keeps them from being alone together. Like right now, for example. Steve shifts and leans harder into Bucky, who allows it because he is a masochist.

“I really don’t want you to disappear,” admits Steve quietly.

God damn it, Rogers.

“I know,” says Bucky, tightening his grip on Steve’s shoulder. They stay like that for a little while, together in the darkness, lost in their private thoughts.

~*~

They’re stuck in Bucharest with no real idea how to get out, because that’s just the kind of life that Sam lives now. Stuck in Romania with a price on his head, following in the wake of the first super soldier and the world’s deadliest assassin; or as he likes to call ‘em “Puppy Face and Grumpy Cat.”

Sam woke up around one in the morning to find that both of them had disappeared. Against his better judgement he went looking and found them crouched outside, huddling together near the fence. Sam quickly went back inside, grateful that he didn’t have super hearing for once. That was not a conversation he wanted anything to do with. Not that he knew what they were talking about, really, but Bucky was practically cradling Steve. Sam tried to clamp down on his imagination and managed to get a few more hours of sleep before Steve gently prodded him awake.

“’as happen’?” Sam grunts, blinking up at Steve and then at Bucky who appears at his side.

“Gotta keep moving. We’ve been here too long,” says Grumpy Cat.

“Great,” Sam grunts, and packs his gear up in under three minutes.

Bucky has another bolt hole that they can stay at for a while and he leads them through the sewers.

Which are fucking full of giant rats.

“I want out, now” Sam barks, throwing his pack at a rat that he swears just flipped him off as it drags it’s giant ass further into the shadows. “I’m fine with being arrested. I’m gonna just--” Steve grabs his shoulder and Bucky stoops to get his pack and hand it back to him.

“Come on, Sam,” Steve chuckles.

“Nah man, you don’t understand. You’re so fucking perfect and fearless, but this is my fucking _phobia_. I can’t… I can’t move,” Sam says. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

“I do understand,” Steve says gently. “I can’t handle trains. The sight of ‘em, even the sound. Even toy trains. Tony put up a train set for Christmas at the tower, under the tree. It was a real cute display for the kid’s charity, with all these presents. I had to… to run to the bathroom. Almost threw up after I saw it.”

Sam is momentarily distracted by the pain in Steve’s voice and he pulls him in for a one armed hug. “Shit man, I’m sorry.”

“Heights,” says Bucky quietly, and shares a look with Steve. He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to.

“I’ll scout ahead for rats, make sure they’re out of sight,” says Steve, clearing his throat and stepping away from Sam. “Will that make it easier?”

“Maybe,” says Sam. He’s got his terror barely under control, but the thought that he won’t have to see the rats makes it a little easier.

They let Steve walk further ahead, Bucky walking behind him and Sam trailing after both of them, feeling raw. It’s working, Bucky and Steve dealing with the giant rats before Sam has to see them.

Steve starts to giggle a little bit and it’s kinda creepy.

“What?” Sam and Bucky ask in unison.

“R.O.U.S.’s” he says. Bucky doesn’t understand, but Sam starts to giggle too.

“Thank god we don’t gotta deal with flame spurts and lighting sand, right?” says Sam, and Steve snorts.

Princess Bride is _their thing._ It’s their thing the same way Marvin Gaye and Morning Runs and Getting Shot At is _their thing_.

After everything went down in DC, Steve took a dive in more ways than one. Sam had taken Steve under his wing (ba-dum-tish) and spent a couple weeks making sure that the man wasn’t alone with his thoughts. Steve had tried to pretend that it wasn’t necessary, but Sam just glared at him until Steve mumbled “So it’s like that?” to which Sam had assured him “Oh, it’s like that.”

Part of Sam’s brilliant multi-phase plan to “Make Steve a Happy Camper” was to make sure he was grounded by the present, make it harder to fall back in time to when the survivor’s guilt and the fear were fresher. Music was an easy way to do this because Steve was hungry for it, especially Motown and (unexpectedly) Tupac. He said Tupac reminded him of the poetry he’d hear sometimes in the Jazz clubs in New York.

But _The Princess Bride_ was revelatory. It made sense, when Sam thought about it; the story was self-contained, which meant all the humor was accessible to someone who had little cultural knowledge, and it wasn’t profane or raunchy, which meant it didn’t make Steve uncomfortable, but most importantly it had a happy ending. True love triumphed, Inigo lived to get his revenge, and the grandson and the grandfather were able to bridge the gap and understand each other. Steve had cried a little and Sam had felt a little choked up too (not because of the movie, but because of Steve).

After that Steve had perked up, felt a little more hopeful about his chances of getting Bucky back. He’d drop references to the movie now and again too, and Sam would pick up the thread, giving Steve a chance to feel like he belonged in this century.

“What the hell are you talking about?” says Bucky, glaring at them.

“It’s from a movie, Buck. When this is all over we’ll watch it together.”

“Whatever,” says Bucky, disproportionately annoyed by their inside joke.

Sam winces internally. Steve shuts up and the good mood evaporates. They follow Bucky through the dark towards their destination.

They end up in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. Barnes has obviously been here before, because there is a weapons stash and some supplies. They’re going to need to acquire food soon though. That’s gonna be a fun trip. The soldiers make sure that there are no rats (and Sam is just going to let go of being embarrassed—he used to be paid to spend all day comforting vets who felt bad about being afraid of plastic bags and he’s not going to be a hypocrite).

“Think if we contact Tony he’ll help us?” Steve asks glumly.

“Dude, I don’t know if your boy Stark is gonna trust us. We’re pretty compromised,” Sam says.

Bucky frowns a little. “Stark?” he asks, turning towards them.

“Howard’s son,” says Steve.

There is a tense silence and then Bucky asks in a quiet voice “Howard had a son?”

“Yeah. Tony is one of the Avengers. He’s… well, he takes after his dad in a lot of ways,” Steve says, smiling fondly. “He’s a good man though. He opened his home to us, gave us a place to belong. I think under better circumstances he would have done the same for you.”

“No,” says Bucky immediately. “We can’t ask him for help.”

“But he might be willing if we just explain that you were fram--”

“Steve, I killed his parents.”

“Well that’s gonna throw a monkey wrench into the works,” says Sam, clapping his hands together, and earning a glare from both the super soldiers. “Gonna shut up now.”

“What do you mean you killed his parents?”

“What do you fucking think I mean?” Bucky shouts, then says quietly “Howard… he recognized me, begged me to help him.”

“Did you recognize him?” Steve asks, fists clenched next to his sides.

“I don’t know. Maybe. When I left HYDRA and went to the museum I remembered killing him. Steve, I killed his wife with my bare hands.”

“It wasn’t you, Bucky. You weren’t responsible.”

“Yeah? Well, if you really believe that then you’ll fucking tell Tony before you ask him to help me. No, Steve, you’ll fucking tell him,” Bucky marches up to Steve who is looking mutinous and prods him hard in the chest with his metal finger. Sam winces in sympathy, but Steve barely registers it. “You have to tell him. You really think I’m so innocent, then be honest before you ask your friend to help the man who murdered his parents. Jesus Steve, how old was the kid when I did it?”

“He was seventeen, I think,” says Steve, and Bucky groans.

“Steve, do you really think Tony is our best option?” Sam asks, pulling them away from an argument that Steve is never going to win.

“Maybe. We got out with zero casualties, so maybe Tony would be willing to listen…” but Steve doesn’t seem sure. “I don’t want to fight our way out of this if at all possible. Just in case, I think we need to split up. I have a way to contact Tony, but it’s going to give my location away immediately. I want the both of you to stay well away until I’m sure he’s not going to…”

“Betray you?” Sam suggests.

“Be a righteous asshole,” Steve hedges, not willing to think that Tony would ever betray him outright. “I’m going to be telling him some heavy stuff. He might not be very happy.”

“You’re actually going to tell him,” says Bucky like he’s been smacked in the face.

“Well yeah, you seemed pretty insistent on it,” Steve growls.

“When have you ever listened to me, punk?”

A very long, very… strange moment passes, and Sam senses that “something” is “happening”. Steve looks like he’s about to cry for a second but he pushes it down and gives Bucky a watery grin.

“When you’re not being stupid, jerk,” he says quietly.

“Which is all the time,” insists Bucky.

“Yeah. Remember that time you tried to convince me to steal communion wafers? That was a brilliant idea, Bucky.”

“Hey, I was trying to make sure you got into heaven, pal. You needed all the help you could get.”

“You tellin’ me that stealing from a church is a great way to get on God’s good side?”

“Aw, this is adorable,” says Sam, grinning wide when Bucky turns and glares at him. “Really, though. You need to stop flirting so we can come up with a plan.”

“We’re not--”

“What--”

Steve and Bucky turn an identical shade of red, and Sam thanks God up in heaven for blessing him with this moment.

“Okay, fine, here’s what I’m thinking,” begins Steve.

~*~

Tony has sixteen hours left and no leads when his phone starts trilling “Star Spangled Man.”

“Steve, baby, how are you?” Tony says, playing it cool but secretly melting down inside with relief. Cap has come to his senses, he’s gonna let Tony rescue this.

“Hey Tony. I need you to meet me. Alone.”

Fuck, Steve is gonna make this harder than it has to be.

“Steve, please just turn him in.”

“You know I can’t, Tony.”

“Yeah, but it would have been nice.”

Steve chuckles and Tony smirks, affection and exasperation making his chest hurt.

“Tony, you know where I am. Please just give me a chance to explain some things in person.”

“Barnes is long gone, isn’t he?”

“Hell yeah he is. I know I look stupid, but come on.”

Tony suits up and follows the coordinates to the roof of a warehouse that looks like it’s been in every spy-thriller ever filmed. He appreciates the drama, something that he and Steve have in common. They know how to play to an audience.

“So, you must have a really good story for me if you think you’re going to convince me that your man is innoce--”

“Tony, The Winter Soldier assassinated your parents.”

He is back in the cave, slowly being drowned with a hole burning in his chest.

He is in space, suffocating as his suit dies around him.

He’s watching Pepper fall into a pit of writhing flames.

He’s seventeen on Christmas day eating lunch in the kitchen with his butler when the radio announces that Howard and Maria Stark are dead. That’s how he learns, not from the authorities, but from the press.

“You better have a fucking plan, Spangles, ‘cause I’m about to burn this city down around your friend.”

“Here’s his file,” says Steve and hands it to Tony. It’s a very brave move, because Tony is in his suit and Steve is in a dirty t-shirt and jeans with no weapon.

“You’re gonna have to give me the cliff notes. Seeing nothing but red here.”

“Remember what happened to Barton?” Steve asks biting his lip.

“They didn’t have Loki’s scepter back in olden times, cap,” growls Tony.

“No, they had a fancy electric lobotomy chair and drugs and hypnotic suggestion.”

Cap had been very closed about Bucky following the Insight incident. Tony admits that he hadn’t been really interested in Cap’s struggle, preoccupied with his own guilt over supplying his tech to an organization he never really trusted to begin with, and dealing with the fallout. God, he’d been so stupid, but he’d wanted to make the world safer. He’d believed for one moment that he was doing something good. Cap had told them that Bucky was brainwashed, but Tony hadn’t really thought about the implications.

Now he’s thinking about the implications. He looks down at the file, fingers shaking as he opens it.

It doesn’t take long to read, which makes it worse. They’ve been very concise about what they did to Barnes, what they had Barnes do. They talk about The Winter Soldier like old ladies talk about The Good China. It must only be taken out for special occasions. It must be kept pristine. Don’t touch it, don’t even look at it.

“Why are you showing me this? Why did you tell me?” Tony asks.

“He asked me to.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to ask you for help, and he said that… you needed to know, before I asked you for anything. Said ‘he needs to know he’s helping a murderer’.”

“You weren’t going to tell me yourself?” Because of course Steve wasn’t. Tony’s only been his friend for years, only given Steve a place to live, a job to keep him from going insane. It’s not like they owe each other anything. Right?

“Tony, I’m desperate,” Steve says, voice breaking a little. “I just got him back, finally, and he remembers me. He got all his memories back and he’s healthy. I will do _anything_ to keep him safe.”

Tony nods. He understands, even if he doesn’t care. It doesn’t change anything, that Barnes was brainwashed. It doesn’t. _It doesn’t._

“I have to bring you in, Cap,” Tony says quietly. Steve nods like he was expecting this and offers his hands up to Tony.

“Hope he’s worth it,” says Tony, placing reinforced cuffs on Steve and signaling the back-up crew to touch down and collect them.

~*~

All that T’challa can feel in the raw wound that is his heart is a fury so overwhelming that he almost cannot breathe. He warned his father that reaching out to the world would end in disaster and his prediction has come true. He used to love being right, used to love the little wrinkle that would crease his father’s forehead when he lost an argument, pride in his son warring with his natural competitiveness.

Baba.

He’d gladly lose every argument for the rest of his life in order to have his father back. To be free of this pain.

At the very least he will avenge his father. He had tracked the Captain’s friend to a dingy apartment building, but missed their escape by mere minutes. He quickly scans the room, noting the squalor. Perhaps T’challa might have felt pity for this man, once. Now it only hardens his heart. Barnes doesn’t deserve the gift of even this meager life.

T’challa leaves before he is noticed and tracks the progression of Barnes and the Captain along the roof tops as far as he can. They are headed towards the east, so T’challa doubles back and heads west.

He knows they are still here, hiding. He loses their trail until the Captain emerges to surrender himself to Iron Man. T’challa watches the exchange on the roof, learns that Tony has also been orphaned by the bloodied hands of Barnes. He wonders if Tony could be an ally. In many ways they are similar, both brilliant warriors who are princes in their countries (although the States lack an official monarchy, T’challa knows that they worship their celebrities—it is close enough). He does not want to give up his prize to Tony, though. Barnes must die by T'challa's hands alone.

He spends what feels like an eternity agonizing over what he should do. Should he stay and try to find Barnes, or should he continue to follow the Captain in the hopes that Barnes will not be far behind?

T’challa knows his father would advise him to quiet his inner voice, to reach out to the gods and let them give him direction, but he is not his father, and more than that he is angry at the gods. He takes his own counsel and follows the Captain and Iron Man, trusting that Barnes will be drawn along in the Captain’s wake like he has been for a century.

He will forgive the gods only when he sends Barnes to Osiris. He smiles, knowing that Barnes’ heart will stand no chance against the feather of Ma’at.

Ammit will feast well.

~*~

Zemo sits in his hotel room, viciously clicking his pen and contemplating his next move. He had hoped his first plan would work, but he was not unprepared for it to fall apart. His second plan is even less likely to work than the first but he cannot fail. He will not let himself fail. He has moved his base of operations to Bucharest, knowing that Barnes is still somewhere in this city. On his way to Bucharest Zemo raided a few empty HYDRA holdouts and warehouses and gathered enough cash and supplies to begin the first phase of his second plan.

Barnes needs to intake roughly 8000 calories per day, according to the little red book that is opened on the desk. It has been roughly 48 hours since Barnes disappeared. Rogers has been arrested and Wilson is as unlikely to speak Romanian as he is likely to stand out (the Avengers are well known in this part of the world and intensely disliked). He will need to emerge to replenish supplies soon. It is likely he will do it himself and he does not have access to the sorts of disguises that can fool the recognition software that HYDRA developed (and that Zemo stole from the warehouse—that one had not been entirely empty; Zemo knew this path would leave more blood on his hands, but at this point it means nothing to him).

The timing is going to be tricky. Zemo has one chance to get this right and it all hinges on if he manages to guess right about when Barnes will emerge and where he is likely to go. When Zemo breached Barnes’ apartment and looked around (it was distressingly easy to bypass the security measures that were in place to monitor the apartment), he found receipts from the _Kaufland_ off Strada Mihail Sebastian, the one that was nearest to the dingy home that Barnes had made.

Barnes will not go to that _Kaufland_ to get supplies, but Zemo is betting that he will stick to the chain. Familiarity and convenience are comforting, and Barnes is fragile enough to need that comfort like a drowning man needs oxygen. There are many _Kauflands_ in Bucharest to choose from, so Zemo has hijacked all security feeds and has been running the recognition software. So far Barnes has not been detected, but Zemo is unwilling to consider the idea that he made the wrong choice. It is only a matter of time before Barnes walks into a store.

Three hours later the software detects Barnes entering the _Kaufland_ off of Strada Barbu Văcărescu. Zemo breaks the pen in his hand and quickly begins phase two.


	3. Inconceivable

Sam and Bucky sit across from each other at a small card table, staring at the last protein bar, and their stomachs growl in unison.

“Steve shouldn’t be taking this long,” says Bucky, frowning as a hunger induced headache slowly crawls across his skull.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” says Sam, shrugging. Something is off in the way he says it, and Bucky is immediately suspicious.

Bucky leans forward, tilting his head down into an expression that he knows makes him look threatening. “Where is he?”

“Dude, I don’t know what you--”

  
Bucky slams his hand down on the table, making Sam jump. “You’re a worse liar than Steve,” he growls.

“That’s cold, man. No one’s a worse liar than Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just goes as still as he can. He’s starting to panic a little, inside, because Steve was supposed to convince Stark to work with them. Steve had assured him that Stark was his friend, that he knew how to bring Stark around to their side, that Stark would believe him. Steve had been so confident that Bucky hadn’t even questioned it, which he is now regretting. Everyone lies to him, all the time; he wanted to believe that Steve would be the one person who wouldn’t.

“Guess he got better at lying to me,” says Bucky, finally. “What is he really planning? Don’t lie to me this time.”

Sam sighs guiltily and pushes the power bar towards Bucky. “He, uh… He didn’t really lie. He’s gonna bring Tony around. Just, the timetable may be a bit different than what you assumed, and uh, some other things are gonna happen first.”

“Where is Steve?” whispers Bucky.

“Not really sure at the moment. He’s with Tony, though, so we’re pretty sure they won’t execute him, they’ll just put him in--”

“Pretty sure? _Execute_?” shrieks Bucky, mechanical hand spasming in response to the flood of adrenaline that has him jumping to his feet.

“Bucky, calm down--”

“ _How could you let him do this?”_

“Look at me, man! How the fuck could I _stop_ him?” says Sam, standing to shout back at Bucky. “I don’t like it either, but you know how he is! He has a plan that sounds crazy, but then it works out.”

“Because he has other people watching his back, to pull him out when it backfires!”

“He does have other people watching his back.”

“Tony _arrested_ him,” Bucky points out.

“I’m not talking about Tony,” Sam says.

“Then who?”

“Natasha.”

There is a silence, and then Bucky starts laughing. “You trust the widow? You’re both fools if you think that she’ll compromise herself for you.”

“You don’t know anything about Natasha,” says Sam defensively, who looks like he’s actually mad for the first time since Bucky’s met him. That’s interesting.

“I know everything about Natasha. I helped _make_ Natasha,” says Bucky with a harsh smile.

“I… what? What are you… are you saying you’re her…” Sam stutters, and Bucky waits patiently for Sam to complete the thought.

“…her father?”

It’s so innocent and unexpected that Bucky begins howling with laughter which only gets worse when he takes in Sam’s expression of bewilderment.

“Fucking precious,” whimpers Bucky, wiping tears away once he’s calmed down a little. “No, you idiot. I made her what she is. I trained her. Father is… no. Ew.”

“Why ew?” frowns Sam.

“We’re not going to talk about it,” says Bucky, because it’s not Sam’s business. “I know exactly what she’s capable of, and risking her neck to save Steve is outside her skill set.”

“You’re wrong,” says Sam with such conviction that Bucky almost second guesses himself. “Natasha is a good person. She’s one of the best. Maybe she doesn’t always follow the predictable path, but she gets to the right place.”

“You’re so sure that she and Steve share the same idea of what ‘the right place’ is?”

“Without doubt.”

“Precious,” mutters Bucky again, but without as much derision. He wonders if maybe it’s possible that Natasha really has changed, but then he remembers the brittle ballerina caught in a web of lies, hollowly telling him ‘Love is for children’. It was the last thing she’d said to him. He’d taught her many things, but that was not a lesson she’d learned from him.

“I’m sure there is a brilliant second phase to Steve’s plan, so might as well lay it all out for me now,” sighs Bucky, sitting back down and opening the power bar that Sam has pushed towards him. He breaks it in half to share and Sam takes his share with a mumbled thanks, sitting back down across from Bucky.

“Yeah. We hike into the mountains to predetermined coordinates and wait for Natasha to come pick us up.”

“Oh great,” says Bucky, letting his head thunk forward onto the card table, which wobbles ominously under the force.

“Come on,” Sam says with a grin. “At least you get to spend a lot of quality time with me?”

“I’m gonna kill Steve myself when this is over,” says Bucky.

Sam graciously doesn’t mention the fact that Bucky has already tried and failed to do that.

“We’re gonna need supplies,” Bucky says, finally. “I don’t know about you, but I have to eat in order to live.”

“Yeah, this is gonna be tough. We don’t really want to go back on the grid, risk getting recognized.”

“I don’t want to steal anything,” confesses Bucky. “I know it would be safer if we just broke into a house and took what we needed, but…”

“Nah, man, I understand. You can’t be sure you’re not taking from someone who really needs it.”

Bucky nods and remembers being hungry all the time. If someone had stolen what little his Ma was able to keep in the pantry, they really would have starved. He’s not going to risk doing that to someone else. He’s glad that Sam understands, isn’t going to try to make him do that.

He remembers when he was the soldier, being made to steal things even more precious than food, and rides a wave of nausea. These are memories he won’t write down, doesn’t want to keep them even if they leave holes in his timeline. They’ll be there even if he doesn’t write them down.

“I can do it, get in and out without being recognized,” says Bucky, finally. “Only reason I got caught was because I was comfortable. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay, well, we should probably do it soon. We don’t know how long it’ll take to get to the coordinates.”

“I’m gonna drop you at the edge of town and then meet back up with you once I get everything.”

“You’re really gonna suggest we split up?” says Sam, raising his eyebrows.

“They’re going to be looking for the two of us together. If we split up, we decrease the chances that we’ll be recognized.”

“Alright, okay, I’m not gonna push it, and you’re not going to say anything like ‘what’s the worst that can happen’, and I’m not going to die, because we are not gonna give in to the power of tropes. Besides, this isn’t a horror film, it’s an action film.”

Bucky has no idea what Sam is talking about, but he rolls with it. “You sure it’s not a romantic film?” he growls, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “If this were a romantic film, you’d be here with Rogers.”

That feels dangerous, so Bucky changes the subject. “When did you and Steve have time to come up with this plan? You haven’t been out of earshot since the warehouse, either of you.”

“We came up with a few plans on the way to extracting you,” explains Sam. “This was contingency number seven.”

“Number seven?”

“Yeah, the plan in case _you_ were cooperative, but _Tony_ wasn’t.”

“What’s the plan for when Natasha isn’t cooperative?”

“That’s not a contingency that either of us are worried about,” says Sam firmly, clearly shutting down that line of conversation.

Bucky is very fascinated by Sam’s attitude regarding the widow. The other night Bucky thought that Sam and Steve were… but now maybe Sam and Natasha, which still isn’t ideal, but infinitely less distressing.

“Right, well,” says Bucky, standing up. “Let’s fucking do this.”

Bucky leads Sam through sewers, narrow back streets, empty buildings, to the edge of town. It’s dark by the time they’ve wound their circuitous route towards the northern outskirts. They’re temporarily holed up in an abandoned house.

“The coordinates are somewhere in the Carpathians,” says Bucky. “We’ll steal a car and drive up. It’s about seven hours away.”

“Yay, road trip,” says Sam, with no enthusiasm.

“Yeah, cause I’m looking forward to being stuck in a car with you too,” says Bucky. “Stop whining.”

“Sir,” salutes Sam.

Bucky can’t help it if he has a soft spot for smartasses, but he’s never going to let Sam know that. “I can make it to the store and back in about an hour. If I’m not back in two hours, you will steal a car and finish the mission on your own. I’ll join you later, if I can. If I can’t… get out and let Steve know I’m sorry.”

Sam does him the courtesy of not arguing and merely nods. “See you back here in an hour.”

~*~

Tony does not speak to Steve the entire time they are in transit, and it eats away at Steve. He doesn’t try to break the silence, doesn’t try to intrude on Tony’s grief. He wonders if he did the right thing, being so blunt, but that’s just how Steve goes through life—throwing himself through situations and hoping that he lands without getting too scraped up. He’s made it so far, but he knows that someday his luck is going to run out.

Tony, and six heavily armed guards, escort him to a holding cell and then leave him there while a decision is made about what to do with Captain America. A small, fussy sort of man named “Everett Ross” comes to the cell to make pointed statements about carrots and sticks, and Steve just nods. Everett looks like a weasel, but Steve gets the sense that something else lurks under the surface. He decides that he won’t underestimate Everett Ross, but expends no further thought on the matter. Eventually there is nothing more that can be said about carrots and sticks, so Ross leaves.

Steve waits. He knows that she’ll come to him, that she’ll interrupt the A/V feed to give him time to explain himself. She reminds him of Peggy sometimes; Natasha’s as quick to help him as she is to point a gun at him. He knows that he has one chance to convince her to help, and he prays to a god he’s not sure exists anymore for help he’s not sure he deserves.

Two hours later she arrives outside his cell, expression guarded and body language tense. She’s not here to interrogate him, then, he realizes. She’s relaxed when she interrogates, knows that tension in her creates tension in her target. He’s not sure if this is a good thing.

“We have five minutes,” she tells him. “Before you tell me why, I want to know that Sam is safe.”

Steve blinks at her, considering, but a twitch of her eyebrows tells him that questions instead of answers will be met with extreme disapproval.

“I wouldn’t have left Sam behind if I didn’t think he’d be safe with Buck,” Steve says. “Sam wouldn’t have stayed behind if he didn’t feel safe,” he adds, frowning at her a little.

“Why did you let yourself get arrested?” she asks.

“Bucky was framed, Natasha,” he says, choosing not to answer directly.

“I want to believe you, but you don’t have proof.”

“Sam believes it too,” Steve presses and feels a sense of satisfaction when her eyes flicker a little.

“Sam believes a lot of stuff,” she hedges. “He believes that redwing is cute, for example.”

“He also believes that we can trust you to help us.”

He hopes he didn’t push to far, didn’t get too close to outright manipulating her. He’s trusting that she’ll see the sincerity, that she’ll know he’s not trying to use her against her will, that he’ll respect her decision. Desperation makes him foolish, especially when it comes to Bucky, but he doesn’t want it to make him deceitful.

She is assessing him, weighing outcomes, performing a political calculus in her head with unrivaled skill.

“That was pathetic,” she says, finally. “He makes you clumsy.”

“I’m compromised, Nat, but I’m not wrong,” he insists.

“What are you asking me to do?”

“Get them out. Get them safe until you can figure out what’s going on. Sam’s on the line too, Nat, not just Bucky.”

She hisses gently and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Why do you always make such a big mess?” she asks.

“I’m sorry. I promise that I’m not doing it on purpose.”

She laughs quietly at that. “Where are they?”

“You’re going to keep Bucky safe? You won’t turn him over to anyone?” he asks, knowing that if she answers directly she won’t go back on her word.

“Rogers…” she sighs. “Yes, I will help Bucky. I won’t let anyone kidnap your heavily armed, deadly, ruthless assassin.”

Steve gives her the coordinates immediately and he can see that she knows just how much trust it takes. This is his heart, though he’d probably never be able to say it out loud in those words.  

Steve asks, because he can’t stop himself, “You sure about this, Nat?” because he wants her to know that she can back out and he won’t be mad.

“Yeah, sure. It’s gonna be fun,” she says, shrugging. They share a smile, remembering other times, other exchanges that echo this one in many ways.

 “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” he says, tone as serious as he can make it. It works and she cracks up.

A lot of people are surprised by their friendship. A scrappy punk from Brooklyn and a deadly dame from Stalingrad don’t have much in common on the surface, but underneath Steve and Natasha understand each other better than anyone else. They’ve both had to learn how to live with the masks that other people have placed on them, never quite comfortable in their own skin because they can’t escape the fear that their bodies don’t belong to _them_. They are both forced to make the tough decisions, knowing they’ll be sacrificed on the mountain in order to appease the powers that be. They both know that sometimes you have to do what everyone thinks is wrong in order to do what’s right.

“You really milk that film for all it’s worth, don’t you?” she says, shaking her head fondly. "You'd think it's the only one you've ever seen."

“There’s a quote in there for most occasions,” he acknowledges.

“Never let Tony share _Star Wars_ with you. You’ll become even more obnoxious.”

“Tony’s probably not gonna share anything with me ever again,” says Steve, sadly. Natasha considers him for a moment before answering.

“I… don’t think Tony will ever invite Barnes over for drinks, but you? Tony won’t stay mad at you. You’re his brother, Steve.”

Steve inhales sharply and holds his breath, willing away the heat that is making his eyes tingle. When he’s mastered himself, he lets out a breath. “Fuck, I hope so,” he says.

He looks up finally, but Nat’s already gone. He shuffles back onto the hard mattress and hopes as hard as he can.

~*~

There are things that cannot be wiped from the mind of the soldier no matter how much HYDRA scientists beat him, shock him, drug him, or cut him. Finally, they consult a leading psychologist who tells them that instead of trying to completely wipe everything, they should try changing those resilient memories, twisting his lingering feelings with hypnotic suggestion. They begin to place the triggers with carefully chosen words.

The first word is _Freight car_.

He cannot stop remembering the fall from the train. He cannot remember much else, but he remembers that he fell from the train. He alternates between screaming like a mad thing, and refusing to eat or speak. He is certain he is dead and in hell, and he doesn’t remember what he did to deserve it, but god he’s sorry. He’s so sorry. _Please, please god forgive me._

They take the memory and twist it. He will believe that he boarded a train and on it he met a round faced man with spectacles who explained to him kindly that he has the power to end the war and make the world a better place. He likes the idea that he can be at the center of a change for good. Something in him says that protecting people, fighting the bullies, is something that a good man does. He wants to be a good man.

The second word is _One._

His arm is gone, and every time he looks down he can feel the burning pain of it breaking under his weight, and he wonders how high he must have fallen in order to break it clean off like that. It gives him panic attacks that make him useless.

They make him believe that he has only ever had one flesh arm. He came to HYDRA already broken from birth, and they replaced his emptiness with a beautiful machine that will allow him to hold the world in his hands, will allow him to protect the fragile lives contained within it. He likes the idea that his new found strength can keep the world safe.

The third word is _Homecoming._

He knows that he does not belong here. He knows he’s from Brooklyn and that these men who poke him and prod him are not good men. He hates them and kills them when he can.

They replace Brooklyn with Munich (and later a small town in Russia, and then a small town in Afghanistan—small towns in many other countries; wherever they need him to be from in order to remove his hesitation to cooperate). He is home and he knows that home is safe. Something in him says that home feels like the sound of laughter and the smell of apples. Even though there is no laughter or apples, he still feels it inside himself.

The forth word is _Benign._

He knows these men are his fellow citizens, that he signed up to help, but they are hurting him and he wants to defend himself. He is so sick of pain and fear, and he doesn’t know why they won’t let him go. He’s scared all the time.

They replace his fear with the idea that they are helping him, making him stronger and better. They are helping him, they are kind. Something in him says that pain and sacrifice in the service of others is a noble thing. There are people out there losing their lives, and he has no right to do any less.

The fifth word is _nine_.

He is in Russia when Nazi Germany falls. It happens, the 9th of May, 1945. HYDRA is pleased, because the fall of Nazi Germany signals the next step in remaking the world. This is when he overhears their plans, and he realizes HYDRA is even worse than the Nazis. It sends him into a panic and he tries to escape.

They replace his fear with the knowledge that HYDRA knows what is best for the world, because they are united under the banner of science.  HYDRA is a vaccine, a controlled dose of the virus that is ending the world. They will allow the world to thrive one day, once the fever has broken. The world will become better once it understands how broken it is. By serving this purpose, he can save the world.

The sixth word is _Furnace_.

While HYDRA is no longer affiliated with the Nazi party, they did grow under the shadow of the Nazis. Once Germany surrenders it’s only a matter of time before HYDRA becomes known to the wider world. HYDRA sends him in to retrieve very sensitive documents from Buchanwald. There he discovers the furnaces filled with twig thin bodies, and he kills five handlers before they are able to subdue him.

They cannot twist his anger, so they decide to simply allow him to believe that the furnaces were filled with kindling. It’s not necessarily untrue, in their minds.

The seventh word is _Daybreak._

They have sent him to Japan to assassinate Emperor Hirohito before he can surrender. HYDRA is riding high on the chaos caused by the first use of a nuclear weapon in a war time setting, and the turmoil generated by the internment camps holding Japanese Americans on US soil. The war cannot be allowed to end. He’s not supposed to know any details, he’s just supposed to assassinate a political leader that is threatening the chaos, but then he learns. He overhears what happened, the devastation that has been wrought, and he kills his handlers and fails to assassinate the emperor in time.

They replace this failure and the harsh “retraining” that he undergoes with a pleasant memory of visiting _"The land of the rising sun"_ as a reward for diligent work. They allow him to believe he simply went there to watch the sun rise gentle and warm over maple trees.

The eighth word is _Seventeen._

Alexander Pierce becomes a senior official of SHEILD on October 7th, 1970, and now HYDRA has successfully infiltrated all levels of SHEILD. His handlers say that the date is an omen of victory, that the numbers are significant--

10 +7 = 17.

1+9+7+0= 17.

Seventeen is a strong number, the seventh prime, and highly significant in various religious texts.

They introduce him to Alexander Pierce, who officially brings him in as an exclusive asset for US operations. On the desk in the office is a picture of Pierce shaking hands with Peggy Carter. The years have aged her but not dimmed her and The Soldier remembers her in a red dress, untouchable like the stars.

Everything comes back and he crumples forward, looking up at Pierce. Pierce is young and handsome, tall and strong like Steve. The Soldier knows he’s not Steve, but the angles are enough. Every time they try to wipe him it fails, because as soon as he sees Pierce he remembers everything.

They take his feelings for Steve and twist them, make him think that this loyalty and trust have always been directed at Pierce. Pierce, the magnificent man who will bring HYDRA the victory it has long been working for. The soldier will follow Pierce into hell and feel like he’s gone to heaven.

The ninth word is _Rusted._

December 16, 1991.

The soldier hasn’t been used in nearly a decade, instead he’s been stored in Siberia awaiting a mission that requires him. Finally the mission comes. He is to retrieve the case containing the first successful derivative of Erskine’s serum that SHEILD has been able to produce, using the head start that Dr. Pym gave them before his “retirement.”

It is successful. The soldiers that HYDRA creates are deadlier than him, faster than him, smarter than him. He is terrified that he has become obsolete, some rusted relic that will... He hasn’t seen Pierce in so long. He becomes erratic every time they wake him, because he knows that he’s no longer the only winter soldier.

They remove his fear, convince him that he is necessary to train the soldiers, to lead them. They are young and need his protection, or they will never become successful. He is good at protecting things, desperately wants to protect.

The tenth word is _Longing._

New York is being attacked by an army from outer space. HYDRA is on standby, watching the unfolding chaos and trying to predict if this is to their advantage. They like chaos, but only when they control it. He and the other winter soldiers are watching a bank of screens that show the fight on the ground, monitoring SHEILDs anemic efforts to subdue the threat. If they cannot stem the flood, the winter soldiers will be sent out to clean up the mess. A camera catches a flash of blue, and he leans forward, breath caught in his chest. The man on screen holds a shield that is painted red, white, and blue; he throws the shield and catches it in a deadly dance that is beautiful to watch. The man, the man, the man, the man… _Steve?_

The other winter soldiers subdue him effectively with no loss of life. Pierce decides that is enough, and calls for a nuclear strike.

As long as he never sees Steve again, he should not be triggered. Just in case, they convince The Soldier that Steve is still dead. If he sees Steve, it’s just a hallucination brought on by his lingering desire to see his friend.  The pain is so great that The Soldier convinces himself that Steve was never real to begin with, and forgets Steve’s face. It’s very effective, until it isn’t.

In the meantime they count him backwards, slowly blunting the sharp edges that make him non-compliant.

_Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car._

 

The Soldier wakes up in a grocery store in Romania. Everyone around him is looking up at the loudspeakers, no doubt bewildered by the slow, determined voice that is delivering his orders in stilted Russian. They do not know what the voice is saying, but they know something is happening. Some people are looking at him with the same worried look, because he is crouched, crushing an apple in his fist. He straightens up and looks upwards, blending back in.

 _“Soldier, you will leave the premises calmly and without drawing attention to yourself. You will enter room #20 at the Europa Royale Hotel. There you will receive further orders._ ”

The Soldier looks down at his basket and sees that he has selected various cured meats, two loaves of soft bread, dried fruit, chocolate, and two boxes of protein bars. He does not remember picking them out, but this does not concern him.

He waits until everyone around him has gotten over the strangeness of the announcement, when the eyes have slipped off him, when the crowd has shifted and he is invisible again. Then he calmly places the basket on the floor near a display of canned soups advertised at half price and leaves.

 

 


	4. Never get involved in a land war in Asia.

He doesn’t mean to do it, really, but three minutes into his sixth scotch he is holding his phone and selecting Pepper’s name. They’re still talking, even if they’re taking a break. He spoke with her yesterday, in fact. But this… this was something she and he decided they wouldn’t do anymore, as a part of their “taking a break”. Tony is supposed to deal with Avengers shit by talking to a therapist (hah) or teammate (double hah), and he’s not supposed to call her when he’s drunk.

But this is pretty big shit. He thinks that she’s going to understand.

“Tony, you’re drunk,” says Pepper. Tony didn’t even realize she’d picked up, he’s been staring at the ceiling and breathing into the phone.

“How do you always know that?” he asks, with genuine curiosity. He’s a professional drunk, no slurring or stumbling, and it’s very rare that someone is able to tell when he’s off his face. Except for Pepper. Pepper always notices.

“Thirty seconds of heavy breathing with no sex noises,” explains Pepper. Tony thinks _heavy breathing_ is _a sex noise_. “You know I don’t want you calling me when you’re drunk anymore, Tony.”

“Something happened,” he starts.

“You know I don’t want to hear about Avengers stuff either,” she warns.

“Not Avengers. My parents.”

“Oh god, Tony,” breathes Pepper. “Okay, you talk and I won’t interrupt.”

He fucking loves her so much and this hurts so bad. He wants her in his arms, so he can tuck his head into her neck and sob.

“Barnes was the one who killed them,” says Tony without preamble. He doesn’t cry but he hears Pepper choke back a sob. She knows what this means to him. It’s relief, in a weird way, to finally know _who_ even if he doesn’t know _why_.

“Did you get him? I saw on the news, about the bombing.”

“Thought you didn’t want to know about Avengers stuff,” he can’t help needling her.

“You’re an ass, Tony.”

“No, we didn’t get him. Cap…” and here is when he finally breaks a little, a couple tears rolling down his cheek. “Cap helped him get away. Gave himself up to give Barnes and Wilson time to escape. I had to arrest him.”

“You arrested Steve?” He hears the shock in her voice, feels like she’s judging him for arresting the golden boy and it immediately enrages him.

“He fucking helped a terrorist, Pepper. I did the right thing,” he growls. “God damn it, I’m the _hero_ here.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, Tony,” says Pepper, frustration making her voice tight. “I just… that must have been really hard for you. I know how much Steve means to you. That’s all.”

He feels like an ass again, properly this time.

“Sorry, just, I don’t know why I’m always the one who ends up feeling like the bad guy. Barnes killed my parents and Steve doesn’t care. _He’s_ the bad guy.”

“You know that’s not true, Howard was his friend too--”

“ _I’m_ his fucking friend,” roars Tony. “Only reason he told me about my parents was because _Barnes_ told him to. Fucking Barnes thought about my feelings before Cap did. I’m nothing to him, Pep.”

“I wish I could hug you right now, Tony,” she says gently, voice shaking slightly.

“Me too, Pep. I miss you. I need you.”

She doesn’t reciprocate the sentiment, choosing to change the subject instead.

“What are you going to do when you find Barnes?” she asks, and he knows that she’s worried it'll be something murdery.

“I’m gonna do something murdery,” he confirms.

“Tony, I know you’re mad. God, I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now, but you know that he was brainwa--”

“For fucks sake Pepper!”

“Brainwashed, Tony. If you kill him, you are going to regret it.”

“No I fucking won’t!”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you are my friend and I am warning you, as your friend, this revenge isn’t going to taste very sweet.”

“Right,” he says, the rage boiling off and leaving him empty. Even Pepper isn’t on his side.

“Talk to Rhodey, Tony. You need him.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to talk to you again tomorrow, Tony.”

The call ends and Tony finishes his scotch, standing up and striding out the door.

He has security clearance to all areas, courtesy of Thaddeus Ross who is the Very Model of a Modern Major Asshole. He isn’t even the only Ross. There is another one, named Englebert or something absurd like that, who seems to be a similar shade of asshole. Tony calls them Big Ross and Little Ross to keep things clear in his head. No one knows if they’re related. It’s weird.

Tony’s drunk and angry, and he’s going to abuse his security privileges to gain access to Steve because Tony wants to yell at someone who can’t run away or hang up the phone. It’s late so the security staff is minimal. They check him through and leave him in the housing block. Only one cell is occupied and Tony traipses his way over.

“You’re drunk,” says Steve when Tony stops in front of his cell.

“How… No, I don’t care.”

“I know because you’re talking to me,” says Steve, answering the question that Tony didn’t ask, with a trace of dark humor. He looks up at Tony through his long lashes, so pretty that it makes Tony ache a little.

“Very clever,” says Tony, sitting down on the ground in front of the cell. It’s a glass front, no bars or anything to hide Steve from view. Steve gets off the bed and sits closer to the glass, but doesn’t touch it.

“Ross told me if I touch the glass I’ll get zapped,” Steve says, smirking. Tony and Steve know that it would barely sting him.

“Which Ross?”

“The one that looks like a little weasel that learned how to walk.”

“Ah, I call him Little Ross.”

Tony is hitting the sweet spot of inebriation where everything feels nice. The silence between them is almost comfortable, at least to Tony. Steve looks like he’s strained something but that isn’t Tony’s problem. He’s beginning to enjoy this, until Steve opens his mouth.

“I’m an asshole, Tony.”

The rage is back and Tony sends up a prayer to Bruce, where ever he may be, to lend him some Hulk strength so he can beat the shit out of Steve. He holds a hand up to his face and sees that he’s still pinky-peach, no hint of green anywhere. _Fuck you, Bruce_.

“You don’t get to say that. I get to yell it at you and you get to listen and be the one feeling horrible for a change,” says Tony calmly.

“Okay, you do that,” says Steve, hunching his shoulders and preparing himself.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Steve,” says Tony. He decides he’s not going to yell after all, not going to give Steve the satisfaction of feeling like a martyr. Tony doesn’t have the energy to flay Steve, but he’s more than willing to watch Steve do it to himself. He spends a few minutes watching Steve squirm, enjoying it, but then Steve inhales sharply, squares his shoulders and looks Tony in the eye.

“I’m in love with him,” blurts out Steve, immediately turning red.

 _Well fuck me_ , thinks Tony.

“Who, Ross?” he says out loud, because like hell is he going to make this easy for Steve.

“You know who I mean,” says Steve, lowering his gaze to the floor and frowning.

“I thought you and the little blond Agent were a thing.”

“I, well, uh,” Steve stutters, blushing again. “I mean… maybe, a little. I tried, uh, flirting with her. Once I knew why she lied to me, I mean. I realized she wasn’t trying to manipulate me for the fun of it, she was just doing her job.”

“You flirted with her, huh? When?”

“Uh, when I walked her back from the funeral…”

“Ugh, Steve, really?”

“You don’t get to be the one to judge me for that, Tony. You’ve done way worse. I was _sad_ , you know. I wanted to… I dunno, forget that I’d just lost another love of my life. Worse ways to find comfort for a broken heart, and it’s not like I wanted a one night stand or anything. I’d’ve gone steady with Sharon if she’d wanted it.”

“God, you’re the worst. You don’t even know how to rebound correctly.”

“Not even really anything to rebound from. I got to kiss Peggy once, and then I crashed a plane into the ocean. Never got to do _anything_ with Buck…”

“Let’s hope you never have sex. It’ll probably bring about Ragnarok.”

“Yeah, yeah…” mutters Steve.

“You always do this and I fucking hate it,” sighs Tony, resting his head in his hands.

“What? Make a fool of myself?”

“No. Well, yes, that too. But this,” says Tony, pointing between Steve and himself. “I want to hate you, I get a real good reason to hate you, and then you say something earnest and heartfelt and it sucks all the wind out of my sails and I end up loving you again.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” says Steve, with heartfelt earnestness. “But I am sorry that I told you about your parents the way I did. I didn’t know how to break it easier without manipulating you or lying in some way.”

“You only told me because you wanted a favor,” shrugs Tony. “I get it, you know. It’s not the first time I’ve found out a friend just wanted to use me for something.”

Steve looks like he’s been slapped. He opens his mouth and closes it again a few times.

“Hell,” Steve mutters, and slumps forward a little. “That’s exactly what I did, isn’t it?”

Tony is taken aback. He expected Steve to protest angrily, to deny it like people usually do, but Steve just accepts the weight of Tony’s accusation onto his shoulders. His eyes are wet when he looks back up at Tony.

“I’m sorry that I tried to use you, Tony… and I’m sorry about Howard and Maria.”

There’s nothing left to say after that, so Tony leaves and heads back to his room.

The problem is that Tony is selfish and self-centered. Right now he’s in pain and that’s the only thing he can feel, so it’s the only thing he can really care about.  He doesn’t know what to do with Cap’s confession—it really doesn’t help soothe the anger, but it does make things a little clearer. Tony thinks about the things he’d be willing to do to save Pepper, the things he’d forgive her for. The friends he’d sacrifice for her…

No fucking way is Barnes even close to being an acceptable option for Steve. He’s offended by the very thought of something so corrupt and ugly being allowed near his friend. Steve is perfect and deserves someone perfect.

He’s still mad, but his heart hurts a little less than it did yesterday.

~*~

 

Sam is panicking. It’s been three hours since Barnes was an hour late and Sam is realizing that he’s going to have to make it to the coordinates on his own. It’s not beyond his skill set to complete this mission, it ain’t his first rodeo, but he’s not looking forward to when Steve finds out they split up. He's watched too many movies to be this stupid. It's fucking Scooby-Doo amateur hour bullshit.

He hears Steve saying " _You fell victim to one of the classic blunders…"_ in his head.

Why, why, why, why did he let this happen—Sam slaps his forehead and grimaces. Surely there are gas stations or road side stores. They could have stolen the car, got supplies on the outskirts of town. Anything but what they actually did. Sam should have insisted on stealing but Barnes looked so scared.

Sam sucks it up, steals a car, and discovers that it has a full tank of gas and some snacks in the glove compartment. Whenever life dumps something miraculously nice in his lap he thinks of Riley and makes sure to thank his wingman, kissing his fingers and pressing them towards the sky.

Fuck he misses Riley.

The drive is uneventful but horrifically long and the radio is broken. There is a single cassette tape ("Breakfast in America" by Supertramp) and that is _it_. For seven hours. He is incapable of driving without music so he listens to it and he’s hard pressed to remember a time when he felt this miserable. " _Lord is it mine?_  " comes on for the sixth time and he screams and hurls the tape out the open window.

He makes it as far as he can go on the road and then he starts hiking. Steve selected coordinates that were isolated but not horribly difficult to get to, and Sam tries to find his center again in the silence while he hikes to his destination.

It’s beautiful in the mountains, the early morning cold making his breath cloud up, which he always loves. He remembers cold mornings walking to school with his friends, pretending to smoke as he held a pencil stub between his fingers, giggling as he brought it up to his mouth, blowing out a long stream of curling breath.

He keeps his misery and panic at bay by remembering good things, trying to stay above the tide. It’s rare that he finds himself falling back into dark waters, and he hasn’t come this close since Riley died. Steve has been helping to keep him distracted, but now that Steve isn’t here Sam’s alone again for the first time in a long time. Alone and lonely.

Steve might have been frozen for seventy years but when he woke up it was like Bucky had died only a few days before. He met Sam about a year after all of that, around the time that Sam was reaching the one year anniversary of Riley’s death. They were both in the same stage of grief, wounded but healing. Then Barnes came back to life. But not really. Sam tries not to imagine Riley coming back the same way, there but not there, like a mirage. It’s a terrifying thought.

He knows he identifies too much with Steve, he knows that it makes it almost impossible to have healthy boundaries, but he’s never looked back. If he’s honest he’s a little scared of how much he’s come to depend on Steve being there.

As he gets closer to the coordinates, he slows down and listens, making sure no one else is around. Slowly, as silently as he can, he approaches the small clearing. Natasha isn’t there yet and he sees no sign of Barnes, so he sinks down onto a flat rock at the base of a large tree and prepares to wait.

“Clint’s right. No one ever looks up,” says a voice right above him. Sam screams (in a very manly way) and bolts upright, twisting around to see that Natasha is curled up on a sturdy branch. She smirks at him like the Cheshire cat and winds her way down the tree.

“Goddamn ninja shit,” he mutters as he reaches forward to wrap his arms around her. She squeezes back hard enough to make him wheeze.

“Both of you are damn idiots,” she says, but not without fondness.

“Missed you too, Nat,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of her head. They stay like that for a few moments before Natasha takes a step back.

“Where is Barnes?” she asks, looking around.

“Ah, shit, I hoped maybe he was already here…”

“You’re kidding me. You lost him already?” She smacks his arm and he frowns at her.

“He was supposed to be getting supplies, we were going to head here together. He told me to wait two hours and then go on my own if he didn’t show up. Said he’d find his way here. I, uh, waited longer than that. Figured maybe he headed up without me, like we planned, but I don’t see any sign of him.”

Natasha bites her lip, frowning a little.

“Well, I jacked a quin jet so we can camp there for a while and wait for Barnes,” she suggests. It sounds like a plan, so they head back to the jet which is currently in stealth mode only a few hundred feet away.

“Thanks for coming to get us, Wonder Woman,” says Sam, punching her shoulder gently. She punches him back and gives him a lazy grin.

“Sure thing, Robin,” she teases.

“Aw, come on! I’m not a side kick! Anyway, Steve is too sweet and perky to be Batman.”

“I didn’t say that _Steve_ was Batman!”

“Okay, who is Batman in this equation?”

“ _I_ … am Batman,” she says, lowering her voice and fixing him with a piercing stare.

“Awful,” he says, but he laughs anyway because Nat is his favorite brand of dork. His favorite dork. His favorite person. _Ooooh help me Riley_ , he thinks. “I bet you never even read the comics. One of those fake geek girls.”

“You got me, I’m totally a fake geek girl. I’ve never bitten the head off a live chicken, not even once.”

They spend a few lazy hours in the jet playing cards and catching up with each other. It hasn’t been that long since they saw each other, maybe a couple weeks since they last spoke, but it feels like it’s been months to Sam. He’s used to seeing her every day, training together, eating together, pranking Tony together (one time Natasha convinced Friday to exclusively play the soundtrack from _Hamilton_ any time Tony requested music in his lab—Tony ended up taking all the Avengers to see the show after listening to the soundtrack on repeat for a week. It was roundly declared the best prank they’ve ever pulled).

It’s dark outside the jet now, still no sign of Barnes, so they turn off the lights and prepare to sleep.

“How was Steve?” Sam finally asks, now that it’s dark and Natasha can’t read every emotion in his face. He doesn’t want to talk to Nat about how he feels, 'cause he's mad at Steve as much as he's worried for him.

“As well as could be expected,” she says noncommittally. “Well enough to get a _Princess Bride_ quote in.”

Sam laughs and says “I love how much it pisses Tony off when Steve does that.”

“Steve’s been back long enough that he should be able to make at least _one_ other cultural reference,” sighs Natasha, who doesn’t want to admit that it annoys the hell out of her too. She hates agreeing with Tony on anything. “I think the only way Tony’s going to forgive him is if Steve agrees to watch that list of films that Tony has taped to the fridge.”

“He really hates watching movies with Tony…”

“ _Everyone_ really hates watching movies with Tony.”

“Remember that one time we tried to watch _Mean Girls?_ ”

“Well, to be fair, Clint was a huge part of the problem that time.”

Tony and Client aren’t allowed to sit next to each other during movie nights anymore thanks to that night.

They’re quiet for a while, enjoying the night sounds that float in from the open bay door. The absence of cars and people, the presence of wind in the trees and echoing animal cries.

“Do you really think that Tony and Steve are gonna be okay someday?” Sam asks turning to Natasha. It’s dark, but the moon outside is full and his eyes have adjusted enough that he can see her considering frown in the dim light.

“I don’t know. Tony has abandonment issues, and Steve is choosing Bucky. That’s going to be a tough thing for him to get over. Tony’s hardly mature.”

“Sometimes I just want to shake Tony until he stops being so…”

“Damaged?” Nat offers, a gentle smirk in her voice. “You know how much I hate agreeing with Tony, but I’m not entirely on Steve’s side either. This is about ego and pride for both of them, and they both need to go on time out.”

“I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy...”

Natasha snorts and it triggers a laughing fit that lasts too long and has them both writhing on the floor in agony wiping away tears. Once they calm down, Natasha turns back to Sam with a grin.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s up to them to sort it out. I’m only here because I want someone to have _your_ back while Rogers is compromised.”

 Sam’s heart aches a little and he reaches out to pat her hand. “Thanks, Batman.”

“Any time, Robin.”

 “Really wish we had stuff for s’mores,” Sam murmurs sleepily.

“At least you got your priorities straight,” she says, and he can hear her smile. She has such a pretty smile.

“Always,” he whispers before drifting off to a dreamless sleep, feeling safe for the first time in two weeks.

~*~

The soldier lets himself into room #20 at the Europa Royale hotel. He does not recognize the handler that is sitting on the bed, but that is not unusual. He walks over to sit in a chair at a small table in the corner, awaiting orders with unwavering patience. The handler watches him silently for five minutes before shifting on the bed.

“Mission report December 16, 1991,” croaks the handler in accented English. He is clutching a phone tightly in his left hand and his eyes are red. There is evidence on the bedside table that the handler is inebriated; five empty beer bottles and a half empty bottle of vodka. This situation is highly unusual, but the soldier has been given an order so he pushes aside other thoughts.

“Mission parameters: Sanction and extract. No witnesses. Intercepted vehicle at 21:00, December 19 1991, in transit on private road heading east towards SHEILD base Alpha. Two witnesses in vehicle, one male, one female. Dispatched male occupant via blunt force trauma to the head, dispatched female occupant via strangulation. One witness on private road, CCTV. VHS recording retrieved. Case in trunk containing Erskine serum derivative samples retrieved. Returned to Mission Control at 23:00, December 22, 1991.”

“Relay Mission Control coordinates for this mission,” orders the handler.

“Winter Soldier Facility, Siberia,” complies the soldier. The handler has him program the coordinates into a GPS.

“What happened to the serum?” the handler asks.

“Serum was administered to five participants, successfully.”

The handler laughs darkly and reaches towards the vodka, taking a long swig. “Just what the world needs, another super powered kill squad.”

The soldier is barely breathing. Something is off; he’s not sure what is happening. This handler has not hurt him yet and does not seem interested in humiliating him. Usually the first thing a new handler does is establish the hierarchy, forcing the soldier to strip and be subjected to invasive medical procedures. They say it’s to make sure he’s functioning properly, but the soldier isn’t stupid. He knows they do it to show him he is weak. The soldier is hoping that if he behaves well this handler will not hurt him. The handler is regarding him again and the soldier leans forward slightly, eager to be compliant.

 “Where are the participants currently?”

“Stored in the Winter Soldier Facility, Siberia.”

“Stored?”

“Cryofreeze,” explains the soldier.

“Jesus,” says the handler, grimacing in distaste. “You poor bastards.”

The soldier would not be able to respond even if he were allowed. No one has ever expressed even the slightest amount of sympathy for the winter soldiers. The soldier has long since realized that his existence is a living hell, but to have it confirmed by a handler is… revolutionary.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” admits the handler after a long silence. “You’re quite helpless in this state, according to the notes. I didn’t expect to feel so much sympathy for you, but that might be the alcohol.”

The soldier waits for the handler to explain what is to be done with him. Maybe… maybe he has outlived his usefulness. Maybe they will let him rest finally.

“I don’t want to remove the programming just yet, I can’t have you killing me before I accomplish my goal. But I also don’t want to leave you like this, and killing you is distasteful,” the handler muses to himself, turning the now empty vodka bottle over and over in his hands. “I suppose I could take you with me for now. Security escort to the Winter Soldier Facility would not be unwelcome, but I don’t know how to get you through airport security without a passport…”

For the first time in his life, that he can remember, the soldier wants to speak out of turn to a handler, to offer up information without being asked. He holds his breath for five seconds, steeling his courage as though he is about to hurl himself off a precipice, and then he speaks. “I am capable of securing non-civilian transport to the Winter Soldier Facility.”

He freezes, waiting for punishment that never comes. The handler on the bed is regarding him with mild curiosity, no animosity present on his face or in his body language.

“That would be very helpful. We’ll speak about it more in the morning, though. For now, I need to sleep this off,” the handler indicates the mess on the bedside table. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry. I’ve used all the big towels in the bathroom, but there are enough hand towels that you should still be able to dry yourself if you decide to take a shower.”

With that, the handler rolls over and promptly begins snoring loudly.

The soldier blinks rapidly, trying to process the situation. He has been given permission to feed himself and take care of basic hygiene functions. This is unprecedented. Nutrients are usually administered by feeding tube during the thawing process and he is rarely kept awake long enough to warrant a second meal, but even then he is closely monitored during meal times. The same is true for hygiene—he is hosed down with cold water to speed up the thawing process, scrubbed down by harsh hands like an animal while he is too weak to fight them off.

He is frightened again, suddenly. There are more memories than he’s used to, since they did not wipe his mind, so he knows they have tested him like this before. They have offered him the promise of freedoms and privileges, and then harshly punished him for giving into his petty needs. Still, he is so hungry and he knows he needs to be functional for his handler, so he goes to the fridge to retrieve the food. He’s not sure what it is, but it tastes so wonderful that he almost has a prohibited emotional reaction.

After he has disposed of the container, he sniffs at himself. Hygiene maintenance is a requirement he decides, and the handler has given him implicit permission, so he enters the bathroom and strips. To show that he is being compliant he leaves the bathroom door open; he has nothing to hide from his handler. The loud snoring has not stopped, so he remains relaxed.

There is a shower but there is also a bathtub. The soldier bites his lip and considers the handler’s words.

The handler gave implicit permission to have a shower but mentioned nothing about the bathtub.

But… there is a bathtub.

The handler is asleep.

There is a bathtub and it’s big enough that he can get inside it and stretch out a little. He's never been in a bathtub before. 

The water is hot when he turns it on and he has to stop himself from having another prohibited emotional reaction. He turns the dial to redirect the water flow to the shower head but he plugs the drain and allows the hot water to fill the tub up, sitting down as it slowly rises higher.

He is being compliant.

The soldier has never felt contentment before so his handlers have never had a chance to prohibit the feeling. He allows himself to wallow in a new emotion and hot water, sinking low enough that it reaches his face and hides the smile that is resting on his lips.

Once the water has cooled enough to become uncomfortable, the soldier drains the water and dries himself off using the hand towels. They are so soft and he runs them over his skin gently, tenderly. He does not feel raw when he puts his clothing back on, his skin does not sting even a little bit, and the contentment stays curled in his chest like a sleeping cat.

 He exits the bathroom and looks over at the handler who is still snoring, but quieter now, moving further into his REM cycle. There is a couch in the room and the soldier wonders if he is allowed to sleep. The handler has been very permissive so far, so the soldier decides that it’s probably acceptable to rest. He is tired and warm, belly full and skin smelling sweetly of jasmine and honey, and there has been no pain yet.

He pulls the cushions off the couch and settles them quietly onto the floor (he doesn’t know why, just that this is comforting to him), lowering himself and allowing exhaustion to pull him under into a sleep that is free from nightmares.


	5. Get back, Witch

T’challa has no love for the _Joint Counter Terrorism Center_ , partly because they do not have to follow his orders, partly because they are useless (the Dora Milaje would have caught his prey by now), but mainly because they are politicians before they are anything else, and politicians are liars.

When he follows Iron Man and Captain America back to the JCTC headquarters, he is ushered inside immediately, assured that he will receive every courtesy imaginable and that he will be a vital part of the investigation surrounding the death of Wakanda’s former King. It is clear after two days that they mean he is allowed to sit in a luxurious office and receive platitudes from lackeys.

Okoye has taken to sharpening her knives whenever a new minion arrives. So far the JCTC have not scrounged up a man or woman brave enough, or stupid enough, to return twice.

Which is when Everett Ross stumbles into the picture.

At first T’challa mistakes Everett for another lackey. It’s an easy mistake to make—Everett has a lack of charisma coupled with the posture of a toady. When Everett strides into the room T’challa is immediately aggravated.

“Hello, your highness,” Everett says in a vague American accent. “I’m Deputy Task force commander Everett Ross. Please call me Everett.” He extends a hand that is soft like a woman’s.

“Pleasure to meet you,” says T’challa, smirking as Okoye brings out her knife and begins to sharpen it with a stone. It makes a noise akin to fingernails on a chalk board. Usually the lackeys start talking faster, averting their eyes away from the gorgeously dark skinned, statuesque woman who is diligently sharpening a twelve inch blade that is already sharp enough to cut through bone.

Instead of trying to ignore her, Everett turns to stare at her with undisguised appreciation.

“That’s a huge knife,” he observes helpfully, radiating that unique brand of American friendliness that is annoying and adorable at the same time.

Okoye raises a perfect eyebrow at him. “It can remove a man’s head in one blow,” she informs him, cradling the knife like a child.

“That’s impressive,” Everett chirps happily, “But can it cut through a tin can and still be sharp enough to slice a tomato?”

“Why would I need to cut through a tin can?” she asks, confused.

“I dunno,” frowns Everett, suddenly confused as well. “Maybe you lost the can opener?”

It is like watching a particularly stupid puppy try to make friends with a lioness. T’challa hasn’t been this entertained in a long time, but he intervenes before Okoye is forced to kill Everett.

“Please, Everett, step this way. I am anxious to hear any news you have regarding the investigation,” T’challa indicates the desk on the far side of the room and leads the foolish man away from Okoye, who is definitely not as amused by Everett as T’challa is.

“Well, that’s the thing,” sighs Everett. “There is no news. Barnes and Wilson have completely disappeared, and Rogers isn’t saying a damn thing.”

“Surely you have methods to persuade him?” T’challa knows how barbaric these people can be. Most of the time he is outraged at the methods they employ, but now he is outraged at their refusal to employ them.

“Torturing Captain America would be a PR nightmare, not to mention Iron Man is watching him like a hawk,” laments Ross. “Sorry, not torturing. Persuading. The JCTC does not permit the use of torture.”

“Of course,” says T’challa, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

“I gave him the old carrot and stick routine, or course, but he didn’t seem particularly impressed.”

“You threatened Captain America?” T’challa asks, again finding himself amused by Everett.

“Yeah! Well, he was behind a lot of reinforced glass that’s rigged to incapacitate him if he touches it, but you know,” Everett shrugs. 

“You are either a brave man, or a stupid one.”

“I was once told that bravery is just another word for stupidity,” Everett says, affecting a tone that is meant to sound wise.

“I believe you just insulted yourself,” smirks T’challa.

“So I must be _very_ brave,” grins Everett.

Okoye makes a barely audible sound of disgust and T’challa ignores her with good humor.

“Tell me, Everett. What do they plan to do with Barnes and Wilson if they catch them?” T’challa leans back in the chair and tents his fingers under his chin.

“Well, you understand that technically I can’t say anything,” Everett says as he leans in closer.

T’challa closes his eyes and tries to suppress the urge to scream. They promised him he would be a part of the investigation and so far he is not privy to _anything_. Everett continues talking and T’challa is preparing to drown out another litany of meaningless babble, but then Everett says—

“Technically, though, what I haven’t said is that they are planning on executing Barnes. We don’t know about Wilson yet, but Barnes is definitely still shoot on sight. I didn’t say any of that.”

Slowly blinking his eyes open, T’challa sits up and regards the man sitting in front of him.

Everett Ross is a small man. His hair is greying slightly, blue eyes surrounded by laugh lines, a smile that is small but genuine resting on his thin lips. He does not look strong, there are no muscles hiding under his poorly fitted suit. Truly average at first glance, or even sixth glance. You could glance at Everett a million times and only ever see a man redolent of something blander than plain oatmeal.

You must instead consider Everett carefully. Weigh him, dissect him, and digest him. T’challa does this now, Everett meeting his gaze levelly and without challenge.

T’challa knows three things about Everett Ross—he is intelligent, he is dangerous, and he is useful.

“You will be my liaison,” declares T’challa.

“Oh, uh,” sputters Everett, caught off guard. “I’m not really—I’m Deputy Task force commander, I need to be on hand for other things.”

“You can be both things,” says T’challa, shrugging.

“Well, but, uh,” Everett continues to demur, but startles into silence when Okoye steps forward, standing next to him and staring down with an expression of derision.

“He is not suited to serve you, highness,” she says, laughter in her voice. “A king does not need a coward like this.”

“Hey, now,” protests Everett, sitting up taller in his chair and pointing a finger at Okoye. “I’m not a coward, I just have other duties. I can’t drop everything to, uh, do… what, uh, whatever a liaison would have to do.”

“My father was murdered, Mr. Ross,” begins T’challa quietly. Everett goes still and looks at T’challa. “As T’Chaka’s son I have a right to _run_ this investigation. However, I will settle for my right, as Wakanda’s king, to be given the information I was promised when I first arrived here.”

“It’s not so simple--”

T’challa pounds the table with a fist and Everett goes silent again. “It is as simple as you make it, Everett. Of the twelve people to walk through that door in the last forty-eight hours, you are the first to tell me anything worth hearing—anything other than the useless whimpering of peons who aren’t even privy to the smallest secrets known by the lowest members of custodial staff.”

Everett meets T’challa’s gaze once again, holding it for a few moments, before nodding. “Alright, I can make sure you’re kept in the loop. You deserve that much.”

T’challa feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He knows that Everett will keep his word on this matter.

“Thank you, Everett,” says’ T’challa, reaching forward to shake hands once more.

“Sure, my pleasure.”

Once Everett has exited the office, Okoye sighs and taps the flat of her blade against her thigh. “He’s going to be more trouble than he’s worth,” she says.

“Oh, try being optimistic for once,” T’challa says, turning towards her with a grin.

“Yes, beloved,” she says dutifully, making a face.

~*~

Zemo wakes up and discovers he has a hangover, an inconvenient case of morning wood, and one of the world’s deadliest assassins snoring quietly in a nest on the floor. The soldier looks like a little boy when he sleeps. Zemo allows himself a moment to drown in sudden grief.

It has been so long since he held his son and some of the sense memories are starting to fade. Hard to remember the sound of that little voice, always excited and happy, or the way he smelled like baby soap and love. The weight of his son in his arms, heavy and alive. When he’d lifted the little body out of the ruins of Sokovia it was weightless; the soul had long since fled, taking with it the gravity that kept Zemo orbiting sanity. 

The one thing that does not fade, will never fade from his mind’s eye, is the sight of his son sleeping. His son slept with a toy fire engine he’d received last Christmas; it was made of hard plastic, almost as large as his son, an unyielding object that was nevertheless snuggled close at night like a beloved stuffed animal. Zemo would often wake up from nightmares, terrified and disoriented, and go to his son’s room. He’d spend hours standing in the doorway, heart-sick with love, watching his boy cradling that firetruck. His boy, his sweet silly boy with eyes like sapphires and a smile as wide as the sky…

 Zemo swallows his pain again, allows it to fade into a gentle hum at the back of his mind; never gone, but quieter. He brings forward the cold, the numbness that allows him to move forward on the path he has chosen. He rises from the bed, grabs the towel he used yesterday, and cleans the smell of alcohol from his pores under a harsh stream of cold water. When he emerges from the bathroom, Barnes has reassembled the couch and is sitting at the table again, eyes tracking Zemo as he pulls cleaner clothing out of his suitcase.

“How long do you need to obtain transportation to Siberia?” Zemo asks as he changes his shirt.

“I require five hours minimum to track down suitable transport.”

“What supplies do you need?”

“I have everything I need, just tell me when to start,” says Barnes, a strange eagerness in his posture, like a dog that is tensed to fetch at his command.

“Now.”

Barnes departs without another word and Zemo packs up his belongings, leaving a few key items behind and in plain sight. His goal is not to disappear. He wants to be followed.

He opens his laptop and pulls up the footage he recorded showing Barnes in the _Kaufland,_ panicking in public as he slips under the programming, crushing the apple in his fist. He leaves the audio in—it will lead them to the hotel. Maybe it will even help to exonerate Barnes, or lift the kill order.

Zemo is carefully numb, but it’s hard not to feel something for the soldier Barnes after you’ve read the journal, after you know what happened, what HYDRA made in the wreckage that used to be a man. Not innocent, no, but…

He looks like a child when he sleeps.

Once transport is secured Zemo will forward the footage to the JCTC. He will have set his trail of breadcrumbs by then, and it will only be a matter of time before he has accomplished his mission.

~*~

Tony has a fun little panic attack when he discovers that Natasha is missing, along with a very expensive Quin Jet.

He thinks he’s pinpointed her time of departure, and sure enough, thirty minutes prior to her quiet escape he discovers the feed outside Steve’s cell had been looped. Five minutes of missing footage that no one had noticed because Steve had stayed perfectly still for hours, like he knew she would come to him. How long had Natasha and Steve been planning on stabbing him in the back like this?

 _I guess it’s hard to shake the double agent thing_ , Tony thinks uncharitably. He wants to hate Natasha, but more than anything else his feelings are hurt. He thought they had finally reached an understanding, that maybe she was on his side for once. He’d give pretty much anything just to earn even a moment of her respect, but he’s just a fool in a metal suit to her.

He never belonged with them. He sees that now.

He doesn’t go back to the cell to yell at Steve. Whatever good had been done by the conversation, by Steve’s confession about Barnes, has been undone. Tony is angrier than he was to begin with because he realizes that Steve has used him successfully—Tony was just Steve’s ride to Natasha, obviously the plan from the beginning.

Tony briefly considers calling his Rhodey-bear, the first love of his life, center of his universe (maybe not exact center, because Tony is self-aware enough to know that _he_ is the center of his universe, but Rhodes is definitely center-adjacent). He doesn’t want to be selfish though. Rhodey went back state side after Barnes and Wilson disappeared, Tony assuring him that it was okay. Tony was _fine_ , the _Widow_ had his back, Rhodes could go get some _rest_.

Rhodey is the only person whose needs Tony will always (almost always) put before his own and he knows that his sugar-dumpling needs serious fucking R&R.

So he calls Wanda instead.

“Stark,” she says when she picks up.

“Oooh, you doin’ that witchy thing where you know things and stuff?” he coos into the phone.

“Caller ID, you prick,” she says, but there is a smile in her voice.

“Yeah I know, I just like teasin’, kiddo.”

“Very amusing, I’m sure.”

They have a seriously weird relationship. Tony knows it, Wanda knows it, but somehow they _fit._

Wanda and Pietro had their lives ruined because of him; they hated him, planned to bring him to his knees, whole nine yards.

It’s actually really funny how many friendships of his have started off that way. Or not funny. The other thing—really, really fucking pathetic.

Although, maybe it says something nice about Tony that his detractors have a habit of becoming his closest friends. Even Rhodey hated him in college at first, but Tony only had to work on him for a year before they were bumpin’ uglies on the regular. Even after the uglies stopped being bumped, Rhodey stuck around, which is why Tony will always be in love with him, even if they both moved on.

Or maybe it just goes to show that Tony hates himself deeply, really only connecting with people based on a mutual distaste for Tony Stark.

He doesn’t want to bump uglies with Wanda, though. In a weird, uncomfortable way he feels like she’s his kid. He didn’t think he had a paternal bone in his body, but she helped him find it pretty damn quick. He wants to give her everything, protect her from everything, and cradle her in his arms until she knows just how important she is. She’s a fucking angel baby made of cotton candy and voodoo.

It’s hard to figure out how they managed to find their way into a friendship, because even though they fought on the same side during the Sokovia event, after the dust settled she went back to hating his fucking guts. Tony, for his part, was more than willing to accept the burden of her hatred. He bent over backwards to give her every opportunity to take it out on him. One night he got drunk and offered her a no holds barred trip into his brain so that she could see all of him and take what she wanted, leave what she wanted.

She was mad enough to take him up on the offer.

Whatever she saw in his head changed their relationship overnight. In the morning, when he stumbled into the kitchen nursing a mother of a hangover, Wanda was there. She placed her finger tips to his temple, gazing deeply into his eyes, and took his pain and nausea away with a gentle wave of red energy.

“Neat trick, kiddo,” he’d quipped, feeling uncomfortable with the tenderness of her gesture. “I oughta keep you around for that.”

“You aren’t scared of me,” she said, tilting her head and gazing at him with wonder. “You aren’t even drunk and you let me in so easily.”

“It’s all yours, Wanda,” he said with rare sincerity. “I’m giving it all to you.”

“Your guilt is deep and strong like the ocean,” she said sadly. “I’ve never felt anything like it before. You carry their deaths on your back. All of them.”

“Yeah, like a pack mule of pain.” Tony can’t stay sincere for long, but Wanda laughs with him this time, a bitter-sweet sound.

“Yes, you truly are an ass.”

They stand there looking at each other and he can feel her poking around in his head. It’s not unpleasant, just a little weird knowing that she is in there with him.

“When they gave me my powers, I changed in many ways,” she confesses. “Suddenly I could hear thoughts outside my head, like voices behind closed doors. It was… amazing, being able to open the doors and be with people in that way. Intimate in a way that could never be understood physically. But I soon learned that they hated me for it. I was so lonely, suddenly, I never knew I could be that lonely. I could hear the voices behind the doors, but no one wanted me to come in.”

He cups her cheek in his hand without thinking, wiping away a tear that is tracing its way down her cheek. She doesn’t pull away from him, actually leans into his touch. Inside his head he feels her warmth, she is in there letting him feel her heart.

“My brother didn’t know why, only knew that I was miserable. When I finally told him, he… he invited me in, with no fear. He said that I never had to be alone again if I didn’t want to be.”

Wanda loses it finally, crumples in on herself like a collapsing tower, and Tony gathers her in his arms. They rock together on the floor, lost in the same grief. She lets him feel it all, lets him take it in like cleansing fire, decimating him and making him holy with her.

“Any time, honey. I swear to you, I will never keep you out,” he whispers into her hair, tears choking him.

Distance makes it harder for her to slip into his head, even her power isn’t enough to reach to the other side of the earth, but she knows him well enough at this point that she doesn’t need to be inside to hear the gist of his thoughts. “Something is wrong,” she says, and it isn’t a guess.

“I don’t even know how to explain the half of it, kid. I wish you were here so I didn’t have to use words.”

“Pepper came by the other day. I… I didn’t peek, not really, I promise,” her voice is small and scared, like she’s been caught doing something bad, “but she was really loud. In her head. About Barnes and your parents.”

Tony lets his breath out in relief, because he doesn’t have to say it out loud. Wanda already knows, so that’s half the battle finished right there.

“Steve and Natasha are helping him,” says Tony.

“Do you need me Tony?” and he hears the hope in her voice. She wants to be back in the world so badly, and Tony aches for her.

“I need you to be safe right now, that’s what I need,” he says. He knows her well enough that she doesn’t have to be in his head for him to hear the gist of _her_ thoughts. She says it out loud for him anyway.

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Tony. I hate being stuck in this place. Vision wouldn’t even let me outside… Please, please let me—I swear it won’t happen again. I can _control it_.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s only for a little bit longer, I swear.”

“You are ashamed of me…”

“Fuck, no, Wanda. You were inside my head, you know that’s not true,” Tony says desperately. "I want you here, but we have to wait for the right moment, okay?"

After the explosion he’d practically had to force her to look into his mind so that she could see he didn’t think she was a monster. Not even close. It didn’t help much, she’s just as good as him at carrying around a deep well of guilt, but it brought some comfort.

Vision still thought she hung the moon, of course, but Wanda had never questioned Vis and his opinion of her. Tony tried not to think about that whole… situation. Was it possible for a synthetic being to have a crush? Because there wasn’t a better explanation for why Vis gravitated to Wanda whenever she entered a room, practically pined after her when he pissed her off by doing something naïve and hopelessly silly, doted on her and noticed her in ways that he never did with anyone else. It freaked Tony out really badly for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

His relationship with Vis is another situation he tries not to think about. Weird in an entirely different way. Everyone calls him Vis, short for Vision, but Tony secretly calls him Vis, short for JARVIS. He misses JARVIS so much sometimes, even though he’s grown to appreciate Friday for her own unique personality. He thinks that Vision knows, but they’ve never talked about it.

Big Ross comes strolling into the office that Tony is temporarily inhabiting, so Tony ends his call with a short but sincere “I love you, kid.”

Wanda responds with “I know,” because she might _actually_ be Tony’s kid, spiritually if not genetically. He’s gonna buy her a pony, he decides, before turning to glare at Big Ross.

“How can I help you?”

“We just received footage of Barnes from an anonymous source,” says Ross, and pulls it up for Tony to view.

“Fuck” breathes Tony, unprepared for the shock of seeing Barnes stroll across the screen.

He’s in a grocery store in the produce aisle, selecting apples. He looks almost nothing like himself, cheeks puffed out a bit (stuffing tucked into the cheeks to change the shape of his face, his square jawline a little rounder but no less attractive), glasses perched on his nose (reading glasses, tasteful, not obviously a disguise, enough for the Superman effect to take place but not enough to make him noticeable), wearing a tailored three piece suit (expensive, probably bespoke), hair neatly trimmed (how did he get rid of the mop without going to a barber? Is it possible to give yourself a $500 haircut? Because damn Barnes is _smokin’_. No wonder Cap has the hots for this asshole).

Barnes looks like a lawyer, which is why it’s so easy to tell that something is wrong when the PA crackles to life and someone begins speaking slow, deliberate Russian. Tony doesn’t know enough Russian to know what’s being said, but he can see that Barnes is panicking, eyes shooting up towards the speakers. He drops to the floor, tries to cover his ears, but the voice is too loud. Other shoppers have stopped too, looking up, but none of them appear to be in the same agony that is crippling Barnes. He crushes an apple in his fist involuntarily, the pulp shooting out and standing out starkly against the dark fabric of his suit.

Then the voice stops, Barnes relaxes and stands up again, face completely blank. He brushes the apple from his suit, ignoring the other shoppers and looking upwards as the voice crackles over the PA one last time. Barnes goes back to viewing apples, the other shoppers disperse. Then Barnes places his basket on the ground and leaves the store.

“That’s… concerning,” surmises Tony.

“You haven’t read the translation yet,” says Ross, pushing a file towards Tony.

_Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car._

_Soldier, you will leave the premises calmly and without drawing attention to yourself. You will enter room #20 at the Europa Royale Hotel. There you will receive further orders_.

The second bit is easy to understand, but the string of unconnected words is odd in a way that tells Tony something very, very bad is happening.

 _“--fancy electric lobotomy chair and drugs and hypnotic suggestion.”_ He remembers Steve saying on the roof top. He read it in the file, too. But seeing it play out on a screen is different. He rewinds the footage and looks at the panic on Barnes’ face. This man killed Tony’s parents, but the terror in his eyes as he loses control of his mind… Tony can’t ignore that. Fuck it, Cap was right.

Tony has an idea.

“Does that sound like a spell to you? Sounds a lot like a spell of some sort to me,” muses Tony out loud. Ross frowns a little, considering the idea. “HYDRA has been known to dabble in the occult before. Maybe Cap was right, maybe Barnes is innocent…”

“It’s unlikely,” says Ross, but Tony can see he’s planted a seed of doubt. Bucky Barnes is a hero just like Cap and Tony can tell that Ross was one of the kids who looked up to the debonair marksman, modeled himself after Cap’s darker and more tragic counterpart.

“Yeah, but if he’s being controlled don’t we owe it to him to try to save him? We can contain him instead of killing him. Maybe we can bring Bucky home,” reasons Tony.

“Maybe…” says Ross.

“Gimme a chance to take care of this. I got a consultant I can bring in.”

Ross raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but makes no protest as Tony whips out his phone and presses the third number on his speed dial.

“... Wanda, baby! Long time, no speaky.”


	6. It would take a miracle.

Steve’s lost track of how long he’s been sitting in the cell. It hasn’t been that long, but he can’t be sure. He is fed regularly and they set up a small television outside the cell for him, playing nature documentaries at low volume to prevent him from losing it completely. But time doesn’t exist and his level of anxiety never drops.

Bucky, Sam, and Natasha are out there dealing with god knows what and he’s stuck in here, feeling useless in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. The panic gets so bad sometimes that it is like he’s about to have an asthma attack. It’s like he never got the serum. He’s back to the days when he was powerless.

He’s also reeling because of his poorly thought out confession.

_“I’m in love with him.”_

Steve’s never said it out loud before. He knows there aren’t consequences for feeling this way, not like there used to be, but it’s still terrifying.

He’s not sure why he said it to Tony of all people.

He supposes that part of it was he wants Tony to understand it’s not about _not_ choosing Tony, it’s about being unable to choose anything but Bucky. He can see that Tony is thinking it’s about their friendship not being important enough, about Tony not being important enough, and it pisses Steve off and breaks his heart in equal measure. The one man who was always supposed to choose Tony was Howard, and Howard chose SHEILD instead. No wonder Tony is constantly terrified of being left behind.

The other part of it is that Steve can’t keep it inside anymore. He just can’t, not for even a second longer. Bucky is going to disappear as soon as this whole mess is cleaned up and Steve has to tell him the truth before he never gets another chance. Maybe saying it out loud to someone else will make it easier to say it to Bucky.

It wasn’t important before Bucky fell from the train. Steve had been in love with Bucky for a while, but was completely comfortable with things as they were. All he ever wanted was to be special to Buck, to be the person that Bucky always picked at the end of the day, and he was. He’s never really needed anything more from Bucky than that, their brotherly intimacy always more important to Steve than trying to scratch the infrequent itch of his broken libido. The serum never really fixed that for him though, so maybe it’s not broken, maybe he just wants some things less than other people seem to.

It is _love_ though, even if Steve doesn’t really feel the urge to press himself into Bucky, to feel Bucky’s hands exploring his body. It wouldn’t be unpleasant, of course, but Steve doesn’t fantasize about sex with Bucky nearly as frequently as he fantasizes about holding hands with Buck, treating him to the movies and dinner, making his friend feel special and needed with little gestures of affection. God, thinking about making Bucky feel loved makes Steve’s face burn red.

If it’s all going to fall apart, if Bucky is going to leave him behind, then why hold it in any longer? He’s already being rejected. He never said it before, didn’t get a chance, didn’t know how to say it or if it should be said, but he’ll be damned if he lets Buck go again without confessing the depth of his regard. It doesn’t matter if Buck doesn’t reciprocate.

He falls into a light doze, exhaustion finally carrying him under, and dreams about the one time he had to take care of Bucky, instead of the other way around.

It had been a mild winter and Steve had, miraculously, not come down with some horrifying illness. Instead it was Bucky who got the flu, bedridden and miserable for nearly two weeks. Buck couldn’t even move without experiencing excruciating pain and Steve had to help bathe him. Bucky felt humiliated by the whole thing at first, hated being weak in front of Steve, and tried to refuse help until Steve reminded him of all the times the situation had been reversed.

“You seen me at my worst, right? Did you think less of me?” Steve demanded.

“No, you know I didn’t,” Bucky said, face flushed with fever and embarrassment.

“Then stop fussin’ and let me get your shirt off. You’re going to feel better once you’re clean, I promise. You’ve done this for me a million times and I’ve never been this difficult.”

“That’s a lie, you’re always difficult!”

“No, not all the time, just sometimes.”

“God you’re awful at lying…”

“I’m not lying!”

“You never let me help you unless I bully you into it,” says Bucky, wincing as Steve peels the sweat soaked shirt from his back.

“I’m difficult _because_ you bully me.”

“Oh whatever,” sighs Bucky, shutting up as Steve starts running a damp cloth along his chest. The expression on his face is beautiful, pleasure and relief as he closes his eyes with a sigh. “That feels nice,” he admits.

“Told you.”

“You don’t gotta be a jerk,” mumbles Bucky with no rancor. He moans gently when Steve places the cloth at the back of his neck, running it down to clean his back.

“I’m not the jerk, you’re the jerk.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

That was the day that Steve realized he was in love with Bucky. It was a quiet moment, impossible to pinpoint, no fireworks to make it distinct. Fondness one moment, the space of a single breath, and then infatuation blooming in his chest like a lotus blossom. The realization is not accompanied by panic, just a gentle sort of shock, like a discharge of static electricity against your palm. Steve panics later when he is alone, but in the moment it’s a sweet revelation, gentle and pure.

_I love this man and I want to be with him forever, in sickness and in health._

His sweet dream is interrupted by Tony running into the holding block, calling for him loudly.

“Steve! Fuck--” Tony skids to a halt in front of the cell.

“Tony?” Steve blinks away the dream, anxiety flooding back into his veins. The expression on Tony’s face is hard to read, but it’s obvious something is wrong.

“Barnes--” is all Tony has to say before Steve is upright and throwing his fists against the glass. The electricity that floods into his body at the contact barely registers. “Shit, calm the fuck down Cap,” Tony hisses.

“Where. Is. He,” growls Steve, stepping back from the glass once he’s certain he can’t break through it.

“We’re not sure right now. Someone sent us footage of him, and… you were right. The file was right, about him being brainwashed. They triggered him somehow, in the middle of the store.”

“Oh god,” says Steve, sinking to the floor. “Did he hurt anyone?”

“No, no,” Tony assures him. “But it seems like someone has him now. We’re pretty sure it’s HYDRA, since they knew how to get him under control.”

Steve sobs brokenly on the floor of his cell, powerless and hopeless. He’s lost Bucky again.

“I’m gonna get him back, Steve. I promise,” says Tony, sinking to the floor and trying to get Steve to look at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you before, but I’m gonna fix it. Wanda and Vision are meeting me in Bucharest, Ross has given us permission to lead the investigation.”

“You have to let me come with you,” begs Steve.

“I can’t Steve--”

“You can’t leave me here Tony, please, _I’m begging you_.”

“Ross isn’t going to let me take you, Steve. You didn’t sign the accords, he doesn’t want you out there.”

“I’ll sign the damn accords, bring me the paperwork!”

“You’d be signing under duress, Steve. They’re not going to let you do it,” says Tony. “I asked him already. He said it’s too late.”

“Please…” Steve whispers.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m so sorry. I have to get going, whoever has Barnes has a 24 hour lead.”

“Tony!” Steve screams as Tony shoots to his feet and sprints away.

Steve keeps screaming until the pain, rage, and sorrow have shredded his vocal chords and he can no longer make a sound.

~*~

T’challa and Okoye are in the middle of a game of Senet. It started off as friendly, as it always does, and has devolved now into insults and name calling, as it always does.

“You cheating son of a jackal!” Okoye roars as T’challa passes one of her pieces. She overturns the board in a fit of rage and T’challa throws his head back to cackle wildly.

“I don’t cheat, I’m just a superior tactician!” He grins as she sputters in rage.

“Superior—you lying piece of—”

A knock at the door silences her and she fetches out a knife to sharpen. Neither of them is willing to pick up the game so it remains scattered on the floor.

“Come in,” calls T’challa, pleased to see Everett open the door. “Everett,” he says warmly, inviting him to sit down. Everett has stopped by a few times and is a delightful distraction, offering entertaining (albeit mindless) conversation and picking up the rules of Senet quickly. Okoye hates him of course, but she hates nearly everyone.

 Everett is not smiling, tension radiating off his small form. T’challa feels a spark of anticipation.

“I have news,” says Everett, closing the door behind himself. “We have a lead on Barnes.”

The world narrows down to Everett’s face. “Where,” T’chala breathes.

“Still in Bucharest, or at least he was 24 hours ago. We just received footage that indicates he’s being controlled by HYDRA, possibly with magic.”

“Magic?” T’challa frowns.

“They’re bringing in Wanda Maximoff to investigate.”

That news is just as unwelcome as the possibility that Barnes is merely a puppet. T’challa handpicked the humanitarian workers that were killed by Maximoff’s carelessness. Many of them were personal friends.

“How likely is it that Barnes is being controlled? I want your personal opinion, Everett.”

Everett is quiet for a moment, gaze turning inward as he considers his answer. “I saw the footage,” he begins fidgeting a little. “I don’t believe in hocus-pocus bullshit, really, but it did seem like something unusual was happening. Barnes tried to cover his ears to block out the… spell, or whatever it was. I don’t think Barnes is a willing participant.”

Very unwelcome news indeed. If Barnes is being used against his will then he’s not the one responsible, he’s merely a mindless weapon. T’challa’s fight is with an unknown foe.

“He met up with someone at a hotel. We’re going through footage to see if we can discover who the new player might be,” says Everett, standing up again. “As soon as I know more I’ll inform you.”

“Thank you, Everett,” murmurs T’challa, shaking Everett’s hand.

“We’re going to find your father’s killer,” says Everett, leaning in a little and catching T’challa’s eye, holding his gaze with an intense expression. “I swear to you we’ll make sure that justice is done.”

Everett turns on his heel and marches out the door. T’challa wants him to come back, missing the distraction of his presence. It’s a relief not to be lost in his own pain.

 It’s hard to concentrate on anything else when Everett is sitting there, chattering away pleasantly, never failing to make a dazzling faux pas that leaves T’challa breathless with laughter and Okoye seething with rage. T’challa remembers the time Everett kept trying to offer her a Pez, shaking a little Iron Man shaped dispenser of candy at her until she ripped it from his hand and crushed it. Then Everett reached into his coat and pulled out another Pez dispenser, shaped like Black Widow, and T’challa lost it.

T’challa leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, refusing to open them when Okoye appears at his side, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do, beloved?” she asks quietly.

“I want to find the man responsible and rip his heart out with my bare hands,” murmurs T’challa.

“So let us leave this place, then,” says Okoye. “We don’t need these people. We can do this on our own.”

“We always do things on our own,” T’challa says sadly. “Sokovia might not have happened if we’d let the world know that the vibranium had been stolen. Maybe they could have helped us find it faster if we hadn’t been so determined to do things on our own.”

“This isn’t our fault,” says Okoye.

“It isn’t _not_ our fault, either.”

“So you want to stay here? You trust Everett?”

“Don’t you?”

Okoye shifts uncomfortably at his side. “I don’t _not_ trust him. But his loyalty is not owed to you, beloved.”

“It is still better to remain here, learn all we can. He is a good source of information that we would be losing if we departed.”

“This is your opinion as a superior tactician?” Okoye asks wryly. T’challa opens one eye and frowns at her.

“You question your king?”

“I question my friend. You are fond of Everett, but you need to remember your goal. Are we truly at more of an advantage waiting for scraps of intelligence than we would be if we set off on our own?”

T’challa considers her words for a long time.

“I don’t know. I just feel that it is better to stay here, for now. We will leave when it is time.”

“As you command, beloved.” Okoye leaves his side, wandering back over to the low table to recline luxuriously.

“Are you going to pick up the game from the floor?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

She gazes at the scattered game that rests near her feet, then lifts the knife and begins sharpening it, raising a disinterested eyebrow back at him.

T’challa chuckles and stands up, walking over to gather up the Senet board and pieces. “My father never would have let a woman—”

“Your father was also a very wise man and never would have finished the sentence you’re about to utter,” she says, aiming a kick at his back side. He laughs, dodging her with ease.

“You’re supposed to be a bride in training!”

“Which is why I don’t clean up your messes, as I am not a _nanny_ in training.”

“Point well made,” acknowledges T’challa with good humor. He does not point out that Okoye is responsible for this particular mess, because he is not a complete fool. He finishes collecting all the Senet pieces and sets up the board. “Would you like a rematch?”

“Of course. If you cheat this time I’ll claim your left hand as punishment.”

“I never cheat!”

“You are a liar as well! Come here, let me cut out your tongue…”

T’challa falls into easy and familiar bickering, giving himself another hour to avoid his grief and rage. It will still be there once he is finished handing Okoye her pride on a platter.

~*~

Natasha met the soldier when she was still _a_ Black Widow, decades before she became _the_ Black Widow. He had trained them, the little spiders, whittling away the remnants of their humanity, molding them into perfect soldiers and spies.

The first thing she noticed about him was that he only ever yelled at _her._ It was very unfair, she remembers thinking. She was the smallest of the group, the one that had to work twice as hard to get half as far. He singled her out and always, always found the one thing to say that would push her over the edge, enraging her until she pushed past pain, exhaustion, and fear just to shove it in his face.

I _am_ strong. I _am_ smart. I _am_ capable.

The second thing she noticed was his smile, again only ever aimed at her. The other girls had landed punches soon after the sparring lessons began, but months had passed and Natasha had never even got close. The soldier took every opportunity to sneer at her, mock her, and stoke her rage. Finally, finally she landed a brilliant blow to his nose with the heel of her palm, hearing a satisfying crunch of breaking bone. He still won the match, sending her flying across the room with a blow that knocked the wind out of her and cracked her rib, but when she looked up she saw a brilliant smile under the steady stream of blood coming from his broken nose.

“You little punk,” he said, still grinning.

She fell in love, of course, because she was young and he was the only consistent thing in her life. He was cruel and twisted, pushing every button she had to make her cruel and twisted too. They were weapons, it was their job.

But at night she would go to him and they would make love gently. He would kiss her bruises and she would hold him after he spent himself inside her barren womb. In his sleep he looked like a child, and she would cry silently about the things they could never have together.

And then like every love affair it ended in blood and betrayal. But Natasha refuses to think about any of it.

She wakes up in the Quin Jet and turns to look at Sam, who is still sleeping. Sam does not look like a child when he sleeps, she is happy to discover. He is sweet, of course, but he is every inch a man. There is kindness in the lines of his face, gentleness in his hands, steel in his spine. She knows that the longing she feels is reciprocated, because it is her job to know, but she treats it cautiously. Banner had wanted her and then fled from her like she was the only thing that could threaten him, and it hurt so badly. If she reveals herself to Sam and is rejected again it will break her heart.

Card games and witty banter will only satisfy her for so long, however. She wants to taste Sam and to hear the noises he makes when he gives himself over to her. He’ll be vocal when he fucks her, she can tell. It would be so perfect, they would be perfect, she could make it perfect.

“I can hear you staring at me,” Sam mumbles, eyes still closed. Natasha blushes involuntarily.

“I’m not staring.”

“You’re totally staring.”

“Why would I be staring?”

“’cause I’m freaking gorgeous,” he says, stretching and yawning. He sits up and blinks at her sleepily.

He is freakin’ gorgeous, of course, but their relationship is built on teasing insults, so she says “No, I’m staring because I’m wondering how someone with such closely cropped hair can still get bedhead.”

“Bullshit, I don’t have bedhead,” he mumbles grumpily, but he still runs a hand up over his hair. Natasha smirks and sits up, helping Sam clear away the sleeping gear.

“So, we have to assume at this point that Barnes has either fucked off, or he got grabbed by the JCTC,” says Sam after they’ve broken out the granola bars and bottled water.

“Pretty much,” sighs Natasha. “This was supposed to be easy. Steve strongly implied this would be easy.”

“Yeah, well, it would have been if Barnes and I hadn’t fucked it up.”

“Good point,” Natasha says drily, dodging Sam as he attempts to pinch her in retribution.

“You don’t have to agree with me,” he huffs.

“How do we fix this?”

“We need to see if the JCTC has made contact with him, I guess. I fucking hope not. Do your spy thing and get us an untraceable connection or something. Hack the gibbons, lady.”

“You just open your mouth and that shit pours itself out for you, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Natasha is about to connect to the JCTC server when her screen goes black and then bright blue.

“Good morning, Agent Romanoff,” says Friday.

“Fuck,” say Sam and Nat in unison.

“Mr. Stark would like me to relay a message,” Friday says, and then clears her non-existent throat. “ _First of all, fuck you_ ,” Friday says in an uncanny impression of Tony, accurate despite her Irish accent. “ _You can’t just steal my toys. Secondly, JCTC received footage of Barnes. HYDRA got him, triggered his programming. He disappeared a little over 24 hours ago. I’m bringing Wanda and Vision in on this, but Steve is stuck in time out for the time being. He’s very upset_.”

“Steve…” murmurs Sam, looking stricken.

“ _Ross doesn’t know you went AWOL yet, so if you want to come help, you can. We can pretend we’re a big, fat, happy family and I’ll pretend you didn’t betray me. Again_.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” predicts Natasha, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 _“Wilson needs to continue to lay low, but I’m gonna fix all of this as soon as I can, so it won’t be forever_.”

“That’s reassuring,” he says.

_“Anyway, I wanted to give you a chance to be a part of things. You know, like the chance you didn’t give me. If you wear pigtails to the Christmas party I’ll consider calling it even, but you need to sing ‘Hit me baby one more time’ to get a present. I’m gonna be buying everyone ponies this year.”_

“Fuck, I really want a pony…” Natasha says.

“I really wanna see you sing like Britney,” says Sam, smirking at her.

“You’re getting coal, Wilson,” she threatens.

“Aw, come on!”

“Mr. Stark has attached the video footage mentioned previously. Would you like to view it now?”

Natasha clicks the file and the video starts playing.

“When the hell did he have time to get a haircut?” says Sam, but he falls silent as the video continues to play.

They both inhale sharply at the look of terror on Barnes’ face. Natasha is struck mainly by how little Barnes looks like the soldier, but then the trigger words take their effect and the soldier appears, body language speaking volumes to her. She knows him so well, even after all these years.

“When did they receive this footage?”

“Approximately five hours ago. Mr. Stark is already in transit and should be arriving in Bucharest within the hour.”

“They’ll be long gone,” Natasha says, biting her lip.

“What makes you say that?” asks Sam.

“Whoever is pulling the strings sent us this footage. They want us to follow them somewhere, but they don’t want to get caught.”

“Great, this sounds like it’s gonna be fun…”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Natasha says, smirking.

“Oh god, why did you have to say that! Someone’s gonna die now!”

“We’re not in a movie, you peanut,” she assures him, patting his arm.

“Right, right,” Sam says, looking unconvinced. “What’s the plan, Batman?”

“Break Steve out of jail.”

Sam closes his eyes and sighs. “I mean, I’m all for it, of course, who doesn’t love breaking into a heavily fortified base? I just need to know why we’re doing that instead of helping Tony find Barnes.”

“’cause it’s what Tony wants us to do.”

“When did he say that?”

“Steve’s in time out, he’s upset. Ross doesn’t know I’m AWOL. We can be a big, fat, happy family again. Also,” Natasha points to the file name.

“Havefunstormingthecastle.avi. Wow. It’s almost subtle, for Tony.”

“I mean, I had to walk you through the whole thing, so it must be opaque by normal-person standards.”

“I would have got there on my own!”

Natasha smirks at him and he sticks his tongue out at her.

“Suit up, Boy Wonder, we’re gonna rescue Cap from the pit of despair.”

~*~

The Soldier and his handler are slowly travelling north, stopping every now and then to walk through markets, getting supplies and making sure they pass in front of security cameras. Then they return to the stealth copter that the soldier purloined from an abandoned HYDRA base and move on quickly. Their pursuers are far behind, but steadily gaining.

They have spent nearly a week together and the handler has not hurt him. The handler has not asked him to kill, or maim, or interrogate. The most taxing request the handler has made, apart from acquiring transport and navigating their way to the Winter Soldier facility, is to help peel potatoes for the soup that is bubbling over the camp fire. The soldier cannot remember ever peeling potatoes, but he is skilled with knives.

“Very good,” says the handler, admiring his technique. “I always mangle the potatoes. I lose half the potato with the peels.”

The soldier smiles because he is allowed to, but also because he wants to. His handler doesn’t speak frequently, but when he does he is self-effacing and pleasant. It would be nice to have a conversation with him, perhaps, but the soldier has not been given permission. He is taking many liberties to begin with, so he continues to peel potatoes in comfortable silence.

“I want to ask you a question, which you do not have to answer,” says the handler.

The soldier feels trepidation but nods silently since the handler is looking for permission.

“Do you remember being Barnes at all?”

It is not the first time the soldier has been asked this question. In the past when he had answered truthfully he’d be taken to the chair again and mangled until he told them the answer they wanted to hear. But this time he is far in the wilderness with no back up team to subdue him and no chair. He chooses to answer truthfully.

“I don’t remember being Barnes, but I sometimes feel him in my head.”

“It must be a strange feeling.”

“I was never any other way, so I don’t know what it’s like to be alone.” The soldier isn’t sure if he should continue, but the handler looks interested, so he does. “I hear him sometimes, when I’m awake. It’s easier to ignore him when they wake me up with the chair. It’s like they’ve closed a door. When they wake me with only the words I can’t shut him out easily.”

“Is he saying anything right now?”

“No, he’s asleep, I think. He doesn’t say much when I’m not in the field. I haven’t killed anyone yet so he’s quiet.”

“He doesn’t like it when you kill?”

“He hates it. He hates me.”

“Because you kill?”

“Yes. I don’t understand why. He killed people to make the world a better place. Why can’t I?” The soldier frowns. It’s an old and unwinnable argument he has with Barnes almost every time he’s awoken. It’s very annoying.

“Well, he was strongly opposed to HYDRA when this was his body. I imagine it’s very upsetting.”

“But HYDRA is trying to make the world better. Why would he fight that?”

His handler sighs gently and leans back, looking up at the sky for a long silent moment. Then he looks over at the soldier with sadness.

“Violence begets violence. Always. Fighting for peace is an absurdity, a pretty cover to disguise the subjugation of the weak and downtrodden. You drag them into a chaos they cannot escape and then turn around and sell them order. They will pay anything and question nothing, just for the illusion of safety. It’s why HYDRA needed to end, just as much as the Avengers need to be ended.”

The soldier reels back as if he’s been slapped.

“They declare war against something that will never end, for something that can never be achieved. Not all fights are bad; sometimes you have to take a stand. But what they do, why they do it… it has no end. HYDRA has brought the world to its knees with innumerable atrocities, the Avengers created one of the deadliest weapons of all time, nearly brought about the extinction of all life on this planet, all for the sake of _peace,_ ” the handler spits.

The soldiers feels a rising tide of panic—if it’s true, if the only thing he has accomplished is to create a legacy of pain and hatred, if the hell of his existence is meaningless, if Barnes is right about him… it’s something he has suspected for a long time, but refused to consider. Now, with the words of his handler ringing in his ears, he cannot escape the truth of it.

“He was right about me…” whispers the soldier. This emotional reaction is forbidden but he can’t stop the sudden sobs that bend him double. He wraps his arms around himself and rocks on the ground, close to hyperventilating.

Suddenly the handler is on the ground with him, awkwardly patting him on the head and murmuring “Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright.”

He disappears into his head for a while, misery pulling him under. It takes a long time for the soldier to calm down. When he reemerges, the handler is still sitting next to him with an arm draped over his shoulders, singing a low lullaby. He stops when the soldier raises his head.

“I am not a good man. I have killed innocent people, possibly I will kill more, because the only thing I have left to want in this world is vengeance. You had information I needed, so I did what was required to take it. I ruined your life and I would do it again. That being said, I don’t want to cause pain and suffering if it is unnecessary. You have served your purpose and I have no reason to keep you any longer should you wish to go.”

The handler waits for the soldier to respond, which takes a few minutes.

“You’ll really let me leave?”

The handler does not respond, instead he withdraws his arm from around the soldier’s shoulders and goes back to the soup, adding in the potatoes.

They eat in silence and the soldier marvels at the feeling of being allowed to choose something. It feels dangerous and new. He searches within himself for the voice of Barnes, suddenly wanting another opinion. It is the first time the soldier has tried to contact Barnes instead of pushing him away. But no matter how hard he searches he cannot find Barnes.

It troubles him.


	7. Warriors of Guildar

Wanda hates flying.

She likes flying when she uses her own powers to do it, of course. That was one of the best things that happened as a result of the experiments.  She’ll never forgot the moment she discovered she could spread the tendrils of her power and climb upwards and away from the “scientists” who beat her and maimed her in an effort to discover the extent of her powers. Her brother whooped and laughed as she crawled upwards, sitting on the cavernous ceiling and staring down at the men in white coats.

They never touched her again.

So Wanda internally corrects herself. She loves flying, but she hates the metal death traps that schlep her to and fro with her team. Her instinctive complaint is that it’s unnatural, but then she supposes she would know about being unnatural. She is darkly amused at the thought.

There are many ways in which Wanda and Tony are similar, and a natural proclivity towards self-loathing is one of them. She knows that Tony not-so-secretly thinks of her like a daughter. At first the thought felt painfully uncomfortable, like pair of shoes one size too small. But then she had come across the concept of “family of choice” and realized that her teammates are her chosen family, and family really is the only word that encompasses the feeling. “Friend” doesn’t cover even half of it.

They all have family issues, each of them longing for something they lost or never had, but no one works harder to make them a family than Steve.

Steve, who is steadfast with his love, has two settings which are _hovering_ or _smothering_ , but mostly smothering. It is annoying when it makes him ask things like _“Are you eating enough?” “You should clean your room” “It’s 7 in the morning, why are you still in bed?” “Finish your dinner” “Did you practice your violin today?”_

Other times the smothering makes Wanda love Steve more than she can express.

One time Wanda started her period when Natasha was gone on a mission. Neither of them had supplies, and tampons had never really made it onto the team grocery list. There were many downsides to only having two women on the team, but Wanda had not foreseen this one.

She had stuffed her underwear with toilet paper and retreated to her room, embarrassed and miserable. Natasha was due back the next day, so Wanda figured she could lay low until then. She told Friday to let the rest of the team know she was going to stay in her room and she wanted to be left alone, and they all listened to her, even Vision (though he did so begrudgingly).

But she failed to take Steve into account.

He waited an hour before barging into her room.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, tension in his shoulders. Wanda never opens the doors to her teammate’s minds, except for Tony who never closes his, but Steve was worrying so loudly she couldn’t help but hear the thread of his thoughts. He was thinking about his mother.

“ _So young when she died, what if I’d made more of an effort to make sure she was alright, could I have caught it in time, could I have saved her_?”

“Yes, I’m alright, I promise,” she said, but she didn’t stand up from the bed or invite him further into the room. She could already feel that she leaked through the tissues, and she couldn’t… she was so mortified.

_“Why isn’t she standing up? Why didn’t she eat breakfast? Is she running a fever?”_

“Steve, you need to calm down. It’s not something bad, I just…” Wanda dropped her head into her hands. It was one of the most awkward moments of her life, but she had to tell him what was happening or he wouldn’t leave her alone. “I started my period and I don’t have anything to. To _help_. I checked Natasha’s bathroom and she doesn’t have anything either. I just, I need to wait for her to come home.”

After she confessed she risked looking up at him, her face bright red. His eyes were wide, mouth open a little in shock. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed in relief.

“Oh thank god, I was so worried,” he said, before coming over and hugging her tightly. “If that’s all, just tell me what you need. I can get it for you.”

True to his word he got her everything she asked for, within twenty minutes, plus a little stuffed bear for some reason. He shrugged when she aimed a look at him, smiling at her a little. “Don’t know why, just saw it and thought it was cute,” is the only explanation she got.

It _was_ cute and she hugged it for comfort while she waited for the pain meds to ease her cramps.

When she emerged from her room the next day to join the team at breakfast she saw that ‘tampons’ had been added to the team list under the ‘monthly’ items, along with detergent and trash bags. Steve made her pancakes in the shape of hearts, and no one asked her about yesterday, except for Vision who was vibrating with indignation.

“Why is Steve allowed to barge into your room, but I’m not? I always get yelled at! It is hardly fair that I should be shut out, when he… unless… are you and Steve…” Vision took in the heart shaped pancakes, and blinked up at her with a strange expression.

“How do you know I didn’t yell at Steve?” Wanda asked, staring Vision down. “Unless you were eavesdropping again?”

Vision cannot blush, but his embarrassment was still obvious. Wanda rolled her eyes but took mercy on him, scooting her chair closer to his and resting her head on his shoulder. He lightly rested his cheek on her head and went still, making a small noise of contentment.

“Hopeless,” said Sam, smirking at her from across the table. She flicked a grape at his head, satisfied when it bounced off his cheek. He squawked indignantly, preparing to retaliate, before Steve spun on his heel and pinned them all with a glare.

“I swear to god if you people start another food fight I am going to make your lives miserable,” he threatened, wielding his spatula like a weapon. The novelty French maid apron tied around his neck only made him more intimidating (Tony bought it as a joke, but Steve wears it with an astonishing lack of self-consciousness). 

“Sorry, Mom,” said Sam.

Steve went back to making pancakes and the conversation around the table continued, Tony and Sam teasing Clint about something that happened in the training that Wanda missed. Wanda retreated into her head a little, missing her family. Missing her mom.

Until Sam started throwing grapes at her head, and Steve began thwacking him on the back of the head with a spatula, Tony cackling like a demon in his _Hulk_ PJs, Clint drinking coffee directly from the pot and muttering under his breath darkly, and Vision ignoring everything in favor of lightly tracing patterns on Wanda’s arm. Then Natasha walked into the room, took in the scene in front of her, and smiled like this chaos was something she missed. Wanda let go in that moment and accepted that she loves these people, and that she chooses them.

This family will never replace Pietro and her parents, but they don’t have to.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Vision, and Wanda is back on the jet headed to Bucharest to help Tony.

“Family,” she says. Vision doesn’t press her for more information, just presses his body a little closer towards hers as though he can shield her from potentially negative memories. She smiles at him and pats his arm. “Only good memories, I promise.”

Vision can’t read her mind and, apart from the first time they met, she refuses to read his, but it isn’t necessary. They have an understanding that comes from a bond that exists outside, above, and beyond the bonds they have with anyone else. Perhaps it is because their powers come from the same source, the gem that sits in Vision’s forehead, or maybe it is because they are both outsiders navigating a new culture. Whatever it is that ties them together, it is undeniable. They are like magnets or celestial bodies in orbit, caught in each other and helpless.

“I’ve never had a family,” Vision muses, lightly tracing patterns on her arm. “What is it like?”

“It is like meals with the team, teasing each other when we train, the fear when one of us is hurt, the pride when we do well, the rage when Clint leaves his shoes in the hallway,” she says, smiling at him. “We are your family.”

Vision doesn’t say anything but he gazes at her with a quiet reverence. She doesn’t know why he looks at her like that, she did nothing to deserve it, but she’s selfish enough to want to keep it. If he ever stops looking at her that way, she’ll crumble up and turn to dust. She knows she will.

“You are my family,” he repeats, something like awe in his voice.

Exhaustion finally claims her and she dozes with her head against his chest, listening to his strange heartbeat.

~*~

Tony vibrates with anticipation, watching the jet come in for a landing.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters as he waits for it to taxi to a stop. Wanda, Vision, and Rhodey disembark _finally_ , and he walks quickly (never runs) to greet them.

“Tony!” Wanda calls, and she runs for him, meeting him halfway. They throw their arms around each other as she invades his mind sweetly, curling around his neurons to give him the world’s most thorough hug. He can’t reach outwards to her, but he tries to pull her in so she knows she’s welcome without words.

“Baby,” he coos, rocking her back and forth a little, only letting her go so he can man-handle Rhodey. “My other baby,” he coos at Rhodey, who rolls his eyes but surrenders to the hug without protest. Tony nods at Vision in greeting and he smiles gently. It’s all really nice for about five seconds before Rhodey steps in front of him again with a fierce expression.

“When were you going to tell me about Barnes and your parents?” begins Rhodey. Tony groans.

“Oh god, not right now…”

“Pepper had to tell me, Tony. _Pepper_.”

“Can we get off the tarmac before you chew my ass off?”

“Depends on how fast you can walk away from me with those little legs. Were you going to wait to let me hear about it on the news?”

“No,” says Tony, trotting, but not _running_ , away from Rhodey.

“Are you actually running away from me?” says Rhodey, who is able to keep pace easily with his longer legs _damn him_.

“I’m not running, I’m trotting.”

“You’re a goddamn coward, Tony.”

“You should be nicer to me. My parents are dead.”

“You’re gonna be joining them shortly if you don’t _stop_ ,” Rhodey grabs his arm and spins him around, “and tell me why you didn’t call me. I could have been here for you, Tony.” Rhodey looks hurt, and Rhodey looking hurt is Tony’s kryptonite.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says, voice small and cowed.

“You idiot, I’m always worried about you,” says Rhodey, pulling him into another hug.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Tony lets himself sag a little into Rhodey’s arms. It feels good. He can’t remember why he thought it was a good idea to keep Rhodey away.

“Time is limited,” says Vision as he passes by.

“Buzz Killington,” murmurs Rhodey, and Tony snorts.

They pile into the weird transport vehicle that has been provided for them by the JCTC. It’s sort of like a tank, but comfier inside. Tony takes the opportunity to show everyone the footage of Barnes freaking out in the produce section as they make their way to the store where it happened. It’s been cordoned off, barricades put up to keep people far away. They drive behind a partition that has been placed in front of the entrance to block the public from viewing anyone entering or exiting. No one outside the investigation is supposed to know that Wanda is here.

“Bit much,” she murmurs as she steps out of the vehicle. It sucks, because he knows it makes her feel like a freak, but Tony has to keep her safe. This is a necessary precaution and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Chin up, Hermione,” he whispers to her, patting her on the shoulder. She glares at him and sends a spark of energy to zap him on the ass.

“Focus, children,” chides Vision. Tony meets Rhodey’s gaze and they stifle their laughter.

They are greeted by some stuffed-suit and Tony can’t focus long enough to retain a name or a face. There is a crew inside, each as bland and unimportant as the next. They all have names and faces too. It’s exasperating. Tony keeps his mouth shut as Rhodey engages in the pleasantries that make it possible for actual work to get done, and finally someone motions for Wanda to move forward.

It’s always odd watching Wanda work. Tony had held off on believing in “magic” as long as possible. It’s easy with the Asgardians to pretend their powers are just a science he doesn’t understand based on advanced tech they won’t disclose. Mjolnir? Come on, it has to be a trick. It _has_ to be.

But Wanda? Wanda is all magic. Wanda walks through his mind, feather light and real. She stands there and he can see the energy radiating from her fingers in red waves. She knows things and does things, and it’s _her_ doing it. There is no tech.

“Getting anything, Morgana?” he asks her.

“Hard to get a lock. It’s like… rewinding a VHS with a malfunctioning remote,” she murmurs.

“Didn’t think you were old enough to remember VHS, kid.”

“I grew up in the 90s, grandpa,” she says, smiling gently. “DVDs weren’t a popular thing until the early noughties, but my family never had enough money to buy a player.”

Tony shuts up and lets her work, deciding to get her a whole troop of ponies.

“Something…” she says, after a few more minutes elapse. “I think I have him.”

Her eyes begin glowing red and her mouth opens a little. Vision watches her closely, poised to intervene if it looks like something is going wrong. Wanda really does have a lot of control over her powers, but not always, and especially not when she’s trying to prove something. She’s got a lot to prove right now.

“The words, the words, the words,” she begins chanting, but the voice that comes out isn’t her own. It’s deep and raspy, male. Tinged with a dull horror. “Oh god, not again, I’m not safe…” She drops to the ground, screaming in pain and clutching her head, an eerie echo of Barnes. Then she stands slowly, her expression placid and neutral.

The red dissipates and she blinks rapidly, shaking her head a little to clear it. Then she looks at Tony, grief stricken. “It… it was horrible,” she whispers. “I’ve never felt anything like that. So hopeless.”

Vision’s hand is at her elbow instantly. “You should rest, Wanda. Let me take you back to the jet.”

“No, it’s okay, I can continue. Take me to the hotel,” she says, waving him off. Vision frowns, but follows her as she walks unsteadily back to the vehicle. Tony and Rhodey follow, sharing a silent conversation.

The hotel has been blocked off, similar to the store, with a partition in front that allows Wanda to walk inside unseen. Vision’s frown has not left his face and if anything it deepens as they enter the room.

“They identified the man that booked this room as Helmut Zemo, a former colonel from Sokovia,” says Tony, reading from a file. “Nasty man, going by the records. Very clever. Dangerous.”

“Of course,” says Vision, voice low and angry. He won’t take his eyes off of Wanda and she is actively ignoring him.

“I’ll try to get a read on both of them,” says Wanda, nodding.

The red energy consumes her again, tendrils winding out from her body and invading every corner of the room, winding round Tony’s legs and over Rhodey’s chest. Vision stands to the side, eyes never leaving Wanda’s face, and the tendrils of energy do not touch him at all.

Suddenly the energy whips itself back into Wanda and she collapses on the floor, coughing.

“Wanda? What happened?” asks Tony, darting forward to steady her as she stands.

“Siberia, they are going to Siberia. There are other soldiers like Barnes there. A kill squad,” she whispers.

“Shit,” says Tony. “Do you know where?”

“I need to go back under. I didn’t get the coordinates, I was distracted…”

“What happened?”

“It’s… it’s like Barnes is there but not there. There is someone else in his head. It’s horrible,” she closes her eyes and steps away from Tony, walking towards the small couch to sit down.

“It’s okay, hon,” Tony says, moving forwards to comfort her, but Vision steps in first, sitting next to her and holding her close.

Vision looks angry when he turns back to Tony. “Is this really necessary for the investigation? Surely we can find the information we need some other way, now that we have a lead.”

“Vis,” says Wanda, trying to withdraw from the circle of his arms, but he tightens his grip.

“She was safe, where she was, when I could _protect_ her. Now she’s here and you’re asking her to step into the mind of some tortured wreck of a man, so shortly after her own trauma. Is this _necessary_?”

“Vision, I’m capable of making my own decisions!” Wanda shouts, finally escaping his grip and standing up.

“Are you? Really? Because it sounds like you’re willingly hurting yourself, Wanda,” Vision says, angrily, rising to his feet and towering over her.

“I know what I’m doing. I have to do this. I can help find him,” she says, frowning up at Vision.

“Of course you can help,” he snarls. “You can do everything, can’t you? Except put your own well-being first, even once.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to stand around and watch this,” says Vision with finality. He turns and leaves the room. Wanda looks like she’s been slapped.

Tony goes to her, wrapping his arm around her as she inhales slowly and deliberately.

“Why is he so angry?” she asks weakly. “I’ve done this before, many times.”

“I don’t know, honey,” Tony says, holding her close. He nods at Rhodey to go after Vision. “You know you’re a special case to him. I guess he just wanted to keep you away from this stuff a little longer.”

“It’s not up to him to decide that for me,” she growls.

“Nah, but you know how he gets about you. Distressingly illogical. You can yell at him about it later when he calms down.”

Wanda sighs and steps away from Tony, looking back at the room.

“Do you want to do this?” he asks, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I can try to get the information some other way. Maybe it’s somewhere in the info dump.”

“You know we don’t have time,” Wanda murmurs. The red tendrils wind their way out again and Tony wonders if he’s a horrible man for letting her do this.

She’s right though, they don’t have time.

~*~

Natasha walks into the JCTC confidently, trusting that Tony didn’t lie to her and that this isn’t a trap. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, but she can’t question him otherwise she has to question everything. She’s so sick of looking for betrayal around every corner, and she doesn’t want to live that way any longer.

_I always think everything could be a trap, which is why I'm still alive..._

It seems to be paying off because no one stops her or questions her. It seems that Tony made a convenient excuse for her, implying she was off investigating a lead. While the UN has control of _when_ the Avengers assemble, they did not gain control over _how_ the Avengers operate. It was one of the few concessions that Tony was able to gain, proving that the man has at least a little foresight. The Avengers must be summoned, but they are allowed to maintain internal structures of power and full discretion until the investigation is completed.

Big Ross is in a meeting so Natasha doesn’t have to sit through a debriefing with him. She has a solid story, but the less lies told up front the better. She is not so lucky as to avoid Little Ross, who corners her as she exits her private quarters.

“Any news?” he asks.

“No, it was a dead end,” she answers.

“Right, so, what’s the next step?” he presses.

“I’m gonna talk to Steve and see if he’s changed his tune, and then I’m going to join Tony on his investigation.”

“You don’t have clearance to speak with Steve.”

Natasha is a master so her panic remains on the inside. “What changed?” she asks calmly.

“Captain Rogers is no longer housed at this facility,” Little Ross says. He doesn’t look happy about it and that’s the only reason Natasha doesn’t kill him.

“Does Tony know that Rogers was moved?”

“The decision was made last night, after Mr. Stark left,” says Little Ross, frowning. “I didn’t say anything to you about this, of course, but it’s like they were waiting for Rogers to be left unattended before moving him.”

That’s exactly what Natasha was thinking. She sizes up Little Ross, looks past the fussy hair and the bad suit, and is briefly reminded of Coulson. She’s not sure if it’s a pleasant association.

“Where did they move him to?” she asks, trying to communicate her willingness to kill Little Ross should he try to withhold information, while keeping her voice, face, and body language completely neutral. Little Ross swallows hard a couple times, so Natasha knows she has accomplished her goal.

“The Raft,” he says, turning to go. He turns again to look at her and adds “But I didn’t say anything.”

So, the Avengers aren’t supposed to know where Steve is. This is to their advantage. If they bust Steve out they have near perfect deniability, which they wouldn’t have if they’d been forced to extract him from the JCTC holding cells. Little Ross might snitch, but it’s clear he’s terrified of her. It’s also clear that he disagrees with how this was handled. It’s unlikely that he will be a problem, even if he thinks Natasha had a hand in Steve’s escape.

Natasha heads back out, nodding at the security staff who make no move to stop her.

Once she’s back in the Quin jet, safely on stealth mode, Sam emerges from the hiding place that Tony had installed one night after a drunken viewing of the original Star Wars trilogy. It was one of his better _inebrideas,_ which was the special term they had coined for his penchant to build things while shit faced. Other less well-executed inebrideas included infini-bacon, the skittle rocket, and the pocket toilet.

“Where’s Steve?” asks Sam, looking around like Steve is hiding his giant ass behind… there’s nothing to hide behind in the Quin Jet.

“The Raft,” says Natasha.

“You mean the super-duper-double-secret prison for super powered super villains?” Sam clarifies, horror seeping into his voice.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“I did, a little, but then I remembered that I’m a badass.”

Sam snorts and places a hand on her shoulder before taking a seat.

“What’s the plan, Batman?”

“Is that our new thing? It sounds like you’re trying to make that a thing.”

“Trying? I’d say I’ve already successfully made it a thing.”

“What is it with you and making things _things_?”

“I like inside jokes. Makes it easier to tell who’s an evil clone and who’s the real deal,” says Sam, with complete sincerity. Natasha starts laughing.

“Is that something you’re actually seriously preparing for?”

“Dude, you stopped an alien invasion. Evil clones wouldn’t be _that_ outside the realm of possibility, I’m just saying.”

“Point.”

“So, plan?”

“Plan is we break into one of the highest security prisons ever made and get our friend back.”

Sam sighs a little and places his head in his hands. “You maybe want to rewind that for me a little bit and give me the details?”

“I don’t have the details yet.”

“You’re awful at plans.”

“Then help me out, Robin!” Natasha yells.

“Okay, Christ, I’m sorry! So, we need to break into a prison. What do we need first?”

“Someone who is good at breaking into places?”

“Like you?”

“I’m good at breaking into places, but not _that_ good.” Natasha isn’t being modest. She is never modest, because it is pointless. Given enough time she could break into the Raft on her own, but they don’t have time. They need to get Steve before they lose their window of opportunity.

Sam bites his lip and looks out the window.

“I know a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the fuck did I get to seven chapters and 32,408 words? The hell?
> 
> We're getting close to the end, anyway. Thinking another three to four chapters, and then I have ideas for the next fic which will continue off this one.


	8. Revenge Business

“You have a doctorate in physics?” exclaims Everett, his jaw hanging open, the Senet game momentarily forgotten.

“Is it so shocking?” smirks T’challa, directing Everett’s attention back to the game with a wave of his hand.

“I mean, it’s just… I don’t think any other royal family has a King with an advanced science degree, that’s all. Usually being King is enough of a career choice,” Everett says, placing his piece back on the board at T’challa’s prompting, not even cringing when T’challa wins yet another game.

“I liked learning. It was a good distraction from my other responsibilities.”

“You procrastinated your way into a Ph.D.”

“I’m ridiculously wealthy and intelligent, and I have privileges not afforded to other people. But I intend to change that someday,” T’challa says, shrugging.

“And so modest,” smirks Everett, but his look of awe doesn’t dim in the slightest. “Where’d you get your Ph.D from?”

“Oxford.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” groans Everett. “You’re a king, you’re attractive, you’re a renowned humanitarian, and you got a freakin’ Ph.D in physics from _Oxford_. Do you have to beat women off with a stick?”

“No, Okoye does it for me.”

“And you’re hilarious, too.”

“Are you jealous?” smirks T’challa, resetting the board. Everett is hopeless at Senet, but it’s a good background activity for their conversations.

“No, but I think I might be a little in love? Do you happen to have a thing for pasty white boys that are still trying to pay off college debt with a government salary? I could use a sugar daddy.”

They laugh together and Okoye makes faces at them, but there’s no real heart behind it. Everett is starting to charm her, T’challa can tell. She isn’t polishing her knives in front of him anymore; instead she’s cleaning her guns. It’s definitely a step up.

Everett’s phone makes a shrill noise and he holds up a hand to indicate that he needs silence. His professional mask slips back on.

“Sir?”

T’challa cannot hear what is being said on the other line as Everett’s forehead creases with concern. “When?” then “No sir, none of the Avengers knew. They were to be directed to you if they had questions.”

Everett stands up and walks away, out of earshot on the other side of the large office, having a hushed conversation, his shoulders hunching further up in a posture of deep discomfort. Then he hangs up, and turns back to face T’challa.

“I have to go. I’ll take a rain check on getting my ass kicked. Again.”

“Is everything alright, Everett?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing about Zemo, I promise.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Me? No, no, why would I be? I’m deputy task force commander,” he says, and leaves the room with an awkward wave at Okoye, which is not returned.

“He’s lying,” says Okoye.

“Of course he is,” sighs T’challa, packing up the Senet board. “I just don’t know what he’s lying about. However, I sense it is time for us to move on our own again. Something is stirring.”

“What is our next move?”

“I have tracked Barnes and Colonel Zemo as far as Omsk,” he says, putting his things away. A ringing silence greets him and he turns to look at Okoye.

“How long have you known their whereabouts?”

“Long enough. They have been making sure to pass in front of security cameras quite regularly, without disguises.

“And yet we are still here? Why? What are you thinking?” she asks, incredulously. “What if they escape?”

“I would rather be five minutes late to catch a guilty man than five minutes early to kill an innocent one. In my haste to claim vengeance I believed Barnes to be guilty of a crime he didn’t commit, and I would have killed him. This time I want to know as many variables as possible before I set out to confront the man who stole my father’s life.”

Okoye regards him with new eyes, her gaze heavy as it appraises him.

“You will be a wise leader, Beloved. Worthy to follow your father. I would be your wife, if you chose me.”

T’challa is taken aback, momentarily speechless. Okoye stands before him, beautiful and clever. She would be a dutiful queen, a loving mother… and a miserable wife.

“Sweet love,” he says, turning to her fully and bowing to her. “I couldn’t tie you to me in that way.  Our love is like that which lies between a brother and a sister.”

“You do not want me?” she asks, a crack in her mask showing.

“You do not want _me_.”

She looks scared now and it’s painful to see that look on her face. T’challa walks forward slowly and holds a hand out to her. “You will serve me well for the appointed time and when I choose a wife you will be free to go and find where your true happiness lies. Someday I will bless you at your wedding. I only hope we do not fall for the same woman _._ ”

At his pronouncement Okoye’s eyes fill with tears which spill over, tracing dark rivers of deep emotion along her perfect cheeks. T’challa embraces her, allowing her to sob quietly against his shoulder. She masters herself quickly though, like the true warrior she is, wiping the evidence from her face. This time she stares up at him without fear.

“I hope the same for your sake. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“I know it well.”

They quickly pack their belongings and depart without sending a farewell to Everett. T’challa feels bad about this, but it is for the best. Everett will ask questions that T’challa will not answer and it would be poor manners to repay Everett’s honesty with lies of omission. T’challa hopes they will meet again one day, though.

Okoye slips into the pilot seat and prepares for take-off, quickly running through the flight checks. She pauses, hand hovering over the computer, unsure how to program the course. “Omsk?” she prompts T’challa.

“I think the Avengers have had a breakthrough in the case. Mr. Stark is tracking our prey, so we need only track him. Currently he is in transit.”

“You tagged the Iron Man suit?”

“No. The Avengers use QuinJets.”

Okoye laughs delightedly. “Do they know you designed their stealth technology, and can bypass it easily?”

“I doubt it. In any case, please track QJ-19. It appears to be heading over the Ukraine.”

“We’ll catch up to them easily.”

T’challa takes the opportunity to rest his eyes while Okoye handles the flight. He dreams about his father.

_“Do not let vengeance consume you, my son,” T’chaka says. Where his heart should be there is a door and behind the door is a golden feather. T’chaka holds a conopic jar in one hand and inside the jar is his liver. It is in the wrong jar, sealed by Hapi instead of Imseti._

_At T’challa’s feet a large cat rests, tawny and strong. It yowls, long and loud, and its voice sounds like the screams of a dying man._

_Suddenly T’chaka is no longer there. In his place stands the Jackal headed god Set. Set is a titan, as tall as a mountain, and his hand is outstretched. He holds a serpent in his palm and it is as large as the earth. Set’s laugh is high pitched and crazed, the sound of insanity, sorrow, the end of all things._

_Set’s face melts away like wax and underneath is a man that T’challa does not recognize. His face is pale with high cheekbones, his eyes are green, and his hair is long and dark, wild like a storm._

_“He shall thunder in the sky,” the man hisses._

_The snake wraps itself around the world._

“They have landed in Siberia, beloved,” says Okoye, rousing T’challa from his dream.

“How long until we reach their coordinates?” he asks a little breathlessly. His dream has disturbed him, and he tries to hold on to the details even as they fade.

“We are perhaps fifteen minutes away.”

“Go faster.”

Okoye gets them there in ten minutes. They land next to two Quin Jets that are perched on a snow covered outcropping of rock. Heavy iron doors, set into a stone shelf that extends upwards, are opened outwards.

“Stay here, Okoye. Be ready to depart quickly.”

T’challa makes his way into the base silently, listening for the sound of battle. It is quiet, very quiet. He turns a corner and his visor picks up heat signatures, approximately ten of them, deeper down within the bunker, so he descends down an elevator shaft. He can hear voices, speaking urgently, then suddenly—

“You son of a _bitch_! _”_ The cry is cacophonous, edged with a deadly rage that promises vengeance in the most violent manner. Other voices rise up, but louder than all is still that first voice, spitting and screaming profanities

T’challa follows the voices, deploying his claws, readying himself to enter the fray.

~*~

Steve remembers pounding on the glass, willing it to shatter under his bloody fists so he could follow after Tony, and then gas descending from the ceiling. He held his breath for five minutes, because he can, but these people know his abilities. Eventually he inhaled and then he passed out.

When he wakes up he’s in a new cell and he can feel the pressure change in his inner ear. They have moved him to a new prison which looks more secure than the first, thick metal bars stretch across the unbreakable glass. A speaker overhead buzzes on and Steve looks up at where he estimates the camera to be.

“Captain Rodgers, you are being detained at the super maximum security prison at Ryker’s, pending a trial. Please do not touch the glass, or attempt to break it. You will be gassed again should you fail to comply with these, and any, orders.”

Steve regards the ceiling for a moment and then proceeds to try shattering the glass with his fists again, because he is angry. He has never been so angry in his entire life, which is astonishing because he has been very, very angry. This, though. This is the _most_ angry.

He gets three good hits in before the gas once again descends into the cell. He holds his breath for five minutes and continues beating the glass, leaving the same bloody marks that he left on the old cell. He will keep fighting, because all he has left now is the rage. There is no hope, no love, no friendship, no next step, no way forward. It’s just Steve and the world that betrayed him. Again.

He passes out after he is forced to inhale and when he wakes up he doesn’t bother to get off the cot.

“Please don’t do that again,” the voice commands.

Steve flips the ceiling off and rolls over, facing the wall. He dozes for a while, exhausted from being knocked out twice in a short span of time. His metabolism processes these chemicals quickly, but it still affects him as it works through his system.

When he wakes up again he stares unblinkingly at the wall for so long that spots begin to dance in front of his eyes. He feels like he’s going insane, because one of the spots looks like a little man. He watches as the man shaped dot climbs up the pillow to stand in front of his face.

“Hey, uh, Captain America,” says the little man dot, saluting clumsily. “I’m Scott.”

“What did they drug me with?” murmurs Steve, amazed at his hallucination.

Tony tried to get him high once and Steve indulged him because that is usually the easiest way to get Tony to drop the wild hares he frequently gets. They had holed up in Tony’s lab and ate about a pound of pot brownies, just the two of them. Most of the brownies had been consumed by Steve, who claimed it was because he _really_ wanted to try getting high. In truth, Steve just _really_ likes brownies. The pot had added a strange flavor, but it didn’t discourage Steve from plowing through the tray.

The end result had been a letdown—Steve felt a little numb at the tips of his fingers and Tony descended into a mildly relaxed state that made him prone to expressing just how much he liked Steve’s eyes, and mouth, and nose. It was as amusing as it was horrifying. Then they had a deep conversation about AI, drifting off to sleep on the couch together as Tony was trying to make a profound point about the human soul. It hadn’t been that bad, really.

This, though. This is something else.

“Captain America, we’re here to break you out. I need you to stay quiet and roll under the cot when I tell you to.”

Steve snorts a little.

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” says Scott the dot (hah), giving Steve a little thumbs up. “Roll… _now.”_

Steve is still certain he is hallucinating, but he rolls under the cot because it seems like a good idea.

He is face down on the ground so he doesn’t see what happens, but one moment everything is quiet, and then the next there is a loud crash, his cell is open, and the alarms are blaring.

“Hey Captain,” says Scott, who is normal sized now, his mask elevated to reveal an eager, puppy-like face. He extends a hand towards Steve who takes it and stands shakily.

“I thought I was hallucinating you…”

“Yeah, I feel the same way,” says Scott, who gives Steve an appreciative glance, going so far as to give one of his biceps a squeeze. Scott bites his lip and his eyes go a little glassy. Steve coughs gently.

“Escape?” reminds Steve.

“Oh yeah! Come on Captain, follow me!” Scott cries, holding a hand aloft. He lowers his mask, turns on his heel, and trips over a pile of debris. “I meant to do that!”

Steve smirks a little and follows Scott into the smoke filled hallway.

“This is awesome!” Scott cries as they pummel their way through a crowd of very underprepared guards. “I’m fighting at the side of Captain America!”

“Wow!” he cries as Steve uses a guard to take down two other guards.

“So cool!” he cries as Steve wrenches a baton from a guard and knocks out the one who is running up behind him.

It’s… adorable. Steve is having a hard time not laughing out loud every time Scott praises him. He wonders what Bucky would say about this. Something caustic, probably. He’d put Steve in his place with just a look.

_Last thing the world needs is Steve Rogers with a big head. You’d look even weirder than you already do._

“Did they find Bucky yet?” asks Steve, shouting a little to be heard over the siren.

“Bucky?” asks Scott.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Oh! Uh… Are we looking for him? They just told me to get you out.”

“Oh…” says Steve, a little wrong footed.

“I’m only here ‘cause I’m good at breaking into places and stealing shit. I’m not a hero, really. I mean, I’m trying. I wanted to go straight and stop breaking into places and stealing shit. Make my little girl proud. But I guess if you have a certain skill set the universe sort of keeps you in a box.”

“Well, you’re my hero, anyway,” says Steve, earnestly. Scott stops in place and stares at Steve.

“Wow…” he murmurs, his momentary lapse in attention allowing a guard to sneak up and get him in a choke hold. Scott immediately disappears and then reappears, punching the guard in the face. The guard goes flying backwards and hits two other guards who are running around a corner at the wrong time. “Captain America called me a hero!”  Scott shouts at the guards who have passed out.

“Come on, let’s keep going,” says Steve with a smile. Scott once again leads the way and Steve shakes his head in amusement. If Bucky had been here to witness this Steve would never live it down. It would have been worth it though, to hear Bucky laugh.

He swears to himself that he will hear Bucky laugh again. Fuck the universe. This time Steve is getting what he wants.

~*~

Tony’s reunion with Steve is anti-climactic.

Tony, Wanda, Vision, Rhodey, and Newbie disembark from their jet just as Natasha lands the second jet. Nat, Sam, Steve, and… Guy exit the plane and join Tony and his team. Steve leads the way, marching right up to Tony.

“Tony,” says Steve.

“Steve,” says Tony. “Who is that guy?” he asks, leaning around Steve to point at the Weird Guy, who waves cheerfully when he notices that he’s being noticed.

“Who is _that_ guy?” asks Steve, pointing to Newbie _._

“This is Spider Boy,” shrugs Tony.

“Man!” says Newbie, his voice cracking a little. “Spider _MAN.”_

Natasha snorts, sharing a look with Tony. “Really?”

“The kid is amazing and we needed extra man power, okay? Your turn.”

“This is Ant Man.” 

“Or you can call me Scott, if you like.” 

“For the record, my bug guy is better than your bug guy,” says Tony.

“Spiders aren’t bugs,” protests Newbie.

“Don’t correct me in front of company!” 

“Ants aren’t bugs either,” says Seriously Weird Guy. “Bug is a term used to refer to anything that falls under the order Hemiptera. Ants fall under the order Hymenoptera.”

“Okay, great, entomology lesson over. We need to get inside and stop crazy dude from waking up Super Soldiers, if he hasn’t already.” Tony points his finger in a ‘make it so’ sort of way.

“Let’s go,” says Steve, game face firmly on. Like… seriously, frighteningly on. Steve looks like he’s planning on killing someone. Tony isn’t used to being the voice of reason, so he keeps his mouth shut and follows in Steve’s wake, covering him as he marches forward into the unknown.

The base is completely abandoned, cobwebbed and rusty. Tony doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s scared. He’s scared of the super soldiers. He’s scared that he’s going to hurt Barnes even though he doesn’t want to, like his rage will boil over and take control of him. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve, and he sure as hell doesn’t want Steve to hurt him.

They find their way into a large bay which looks like a missile silo that has been repurposed to house five spooky glass tanks and a lots of tubes and wires. It looks like a music video for an industrial metal band. They walk forward and immediately realize the soldiers are still inside the tanks.

Each has been shot through the head.

“If it’s any comfort, they died in their sleep,” comes a gentle voice. Across the expanse of the room a small window lights up, revealing Zemo. Steve immediately throws his shield at it, which is hilarious. Tony knows better than to laugh, though. Sometimes he is capable of tact.

“Where is Bucky?”

“Gone. He helped me before he left, though,” Zemo says, conversationally. His tone is pleasant, but there is an undercurrent of malice that raises the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck. “You see, I almost failed in my mission, but Bucky came to my rescue. I owe him everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. His jaw is tense, eyes darting around as though he thinks Bucky is hiding somewhere.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again, but one which crumbles from within? That's dead... forever. But you preempted me. I planned to reveal to Mr. Stark the circumstances surrounding the death of his parents. I believed that you would not have the integrity to reveal that information to Stark yourself. I underestimated Bucky's determination, though. He was a much better man that you will ever be, Captain.”

“If you’ve hurt Bucky I will kill you.”

“I have not hurt Bucky, as such. But that is not what I want to talk to you about. I want to speak to you now of responsibility.”

“So, you’re ready to take responsibility for your actions and turn yourself in?” asks Tony.

“Are _you_ , Mr. Stark?”

“So this about Sokovia?” asks Tony.

Zemo inhales deeply and exhales slowly, obviously trying to calm himself down.

“This is about legacy. Captain Rogers, I would like to draw your attention to the manila folder that is placed on top of the table there.”

Steve walks forward slowly and lifts the folder, but he doesn’t open it. “What is this?” he asks suspiciously.

“A document that was brought to my attention by your dear friend. You see, I told him that I suspected I would fail my mission. I felt a deep despair, knowing I had sacrificed so much only to be thwarted at the last moment. But your friend… your friend knows secrets that never made it onto the HYDRA databases, and were never released to the public. He helped me and now I will help you.”

“Help me? How?”

“By revealing the truth to you. Within that folder you will find information regarding the Winter Soldier project that is eye opening, to say the least.”

Steve immediately opens the file, reading quickly. He doesn’t even get halfway down the page before his hands start shaking. He sinks to his knees, breathing harder as he turns each page, his face pale in a way that is deeply concerning. Tony takes a step forward, hand outstretched, and Steve’s head snaps up, eyes focusing on Tony.

“You son of a _bitch_!” screams Steve, launching himself at Tony and catching him around the neck. Steve’s grip actually dents the metal around Tony’s throat before anyone can subdue him. Peter knocks him off Tony and Vision holds him to the ground. Steve is thrashing against Vision, spitting, eyes wild with rage. “ _You fucking son of a bitch! He should have finished the job! He should have killed you too_!”

“Natasha, _what is in that fucking file_?” Tony demands, watching as Natasha stoops to read through the file. Like Steve, her hands start shaking and her face turns white. She turns to look at Tony, and while she makes no move to attack him, Steve’s rage is an echo on her face.

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” he asks, hands outstretched. “What the hell is happening?”

“No, of course you didn’t know…” Natasha looks back at the file, swallowing as though she is about to be ill.

“Read it,” hisses Steve, who is still fighting against Vision.

Natasha clears her throat and begins reading: “Project status quarterly report 12/01/73: Due to the inefficiency of The Winter Soldier project the division was slated to be terminated as of 1/17/74 in favor of Weapon X, which has a much lower maintenance cost and is a more efficient business model. However, generous donations from outside funders have managed to keep this project intact for the next fiscal year (see attachment 9).”

Natasha flips to the attachment.

“To sum up, Tony, it shows $70,500,00 raised from various senators, scientific organizations, universities, and _Howard Stark_.”

“Bullshit,” says Tony.

Natasha smiles tightly and flips to the next page.

“Project status quarterly report 12/01/93: Funding for The Winter Soldier project flagged significantly following the death of Howard Stark, our most consistent funder, however the newly founded Maria Stark Foundation has renewed yearly donations to the project, matching former donations of $50,000,000. This should cover project costs for this fiscal year (see attachment 9).”

“No, that’s not possible…” says Tony. “I have to sign off on all the Maria Stark Project checks personally.”

“Oh look,” says Natasha, holding out a photocopy of a check made out to _The Open Arms Project_ with Tony’s signature. There are many, many other checks in the file, one for each year.

“No, _no_ , The Open Arms project is legit. It researches and manufactures state of the art artificial limbs for wounded veterans, for fucks sake,” Tony insists.

Steve starts laughing loudly, madly. It’s a terrible sound.

“What? What the fuck is so funny?”

“State of the art limbs for wounded soldiers,” explains Steve. Tony winces when he realizes what Steve is implying. “I wonder, did you ever go on a tour of their R&D department?”

“Well, no, I didn’t really have--”

“Time or interest, I suppose. It’s just a few million, sure. No need to investigate. Just sign the checks to get Pepper off your back, right? Right, Tony?”

“Look, first off, how dare--”

“I’ve seen you sign off on things. Pepper lugs in a box of documents so heavy it could break her in half, and you don’t read a single fucking thing. Ever.”

“Are you implying that _Pepper_ has something to do with this?”

“No. It’s all you, Tony. I wonder if Howard was complicit, or if he was just as blasé about his money as you are.”

“This is bullshit, Steve. It has to be. There is no way that I’ve been donating money to some evil charity. No.”

“What, just like you weren’t supplying weapons to the terrorists that killed countless civilians? Including Wanda’s parents? Just like you didn’t donate state of the art propulsion and weapons technology to HYDRA? It’s like you can’t help it, Tony. You never take an interest until it’s too late.”

Steve aimed low and hit every intended mark. Tony feels a sense of vertigo before numbness takes him.

“My friend. My best friend and you gave HYDRA the money they needed to keep twisting him and torturing him. It’s just money to you, right? Throw it at enough causes that _sound_ good and eventually you won’t have to feel even an ounce of guilt.”

“Fuck you, man,” says Rhodey, placing a supportive hand on Tony’s shoulder. Wanda steps up on his other side and holds his hand, which is shaking.

“Steve, that’s enough,” says Natasha. “Tony didn’t know. HYDRA is good at hiding. Hell, none of us knew we were working for them until we were blowing up SHEILD.”

“I don’t care. I don’t _care. He paid them to hurt Bucky._ ”

“I’m never going to be good enough…” says Tony. “I try to do the right thing, and it doesn’t matter. I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

“Trying to do the right thing is different from actually doing the right thing,” spits Steve.

“Seriously man, you need to calm down,” says Sam, frowning at Steve. “This isn’t like you.”

“Right. Right,” says Steve. “Vision, let me up.”

“I don’t trust your ability to control yourself, Steve.”

“I’m not going to attack Tony, but I need to get out of here. I can’t be here a second longer.”

Vision tentatively lets Steve up and the team closes ranks around Tony, protecting him from Steve. Steve glares at all of them before turning to leave. He pauses at the doorway.

“I quit.” 

The shield slips from Steve’s fingers, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Steve walks away and doesn’t look back. The silence in Steve’s wake is absolute and it’s difficult to breathe, as though Steve took all the air with him.

“Well that sucked major balls,” says Scott quietly.


	9. Life is pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I forgot to trigger warning this chapter for self harm when I posted it. I hope I haven't hurt anyone. I will try to be more diligent in the future.

The team takes some time to calm down, each of them offering Tony pained smiles that he doesn’t know what to do with. He’s used to having to push against a backlash, his defensive anger is boiling under his skin waiting for an attack. He’s going to prove he’s not the bad guy here, _just you wait and see,_ but… no one thinks he’s the bad guy this time. He didn’t do anything wrong. Why does it feel so awful to know they agree with him for once?

“Really? No one’s going to yell at me for donating billions to HYDRA’s ‘Completely Fuck Bucky Barnes Over’ charity?” he asks, because he’s got to make sure this is really happening.

“I’d end you if I thought you knew you were donating to HYDRA, but I don’t think you knew,” says Natasha. If anyone can spot a liar, it’s her.

“You aren’t going to call me stupid and tell me I’m… I’m not spending my money diligently enough?”

“It’s HYDRA,” she says, shrugging. “I meant what I said. They’re really good at hiding. When were you supposed to have time to, what, audit them? Do background checks on all the employees? I don’t know what Steve thinks you could have done.”

“Steve isn’t thinking,” says Sam. “This is about Bucky. He just needs to pull his head out of his ass, Tony. He’ll apologize to you once he calms down.”

“I’m just having a really hard time understanding how everyone is on my side,” says Tony, waving a hand to indicate the whole group. “This… this _never_ happens.”

“It happens sometimes. I agreed with you about the accords,” Natasha points out.

“Yeah, but it was about appearances or whatever. You didn’t agree with me because you _agreed_ with me.”

“I didn’t disagree,” she hedges.

“I agreed with you too,” points out Rhodey.

“Yeah, but you have to agree with me. You’re my bestie.”

“Oh, is that how it works? Because I don’t remember signing that contract.”

“Are we going to track down the terrorist we came here to apprehend?” asks Vision, glaring at all of them.

“Right, yeah, good point,” says Sam.

They separate into groups and search the compound, but Zemo is already gone.

“We’re the _worst_ ,” says Weird Dude.

“Perhaps Captain Rogers apprehended Colonel Zemo,” suggests Vision, but when they make their way outside Steve is already gone. Both of the jets are still there, as is the snow mobile that Zemo presumably used.

“What, he just walked off into the tundra?” asks Tony, glaring. He lifts off and starts scanning for Steve, but miles out in every direction shows nothing. Steve is gone. “What the hell?”

“There are some indentations in the snow, Tony,” Natasha says over the comms. “Looks like someone else showed up after we got here. Guess they picked up Steve and Zemo?”

“Steve still have that tracker on his suit?” Tony asks, already entering Steve’s ID number before he gets a response.

“Nah,” says Sam. “I just found it. He ripped it off and left it on the ground.”

“Shit…”

“We can’t do anything Tony. Let’s just go,” says Rhodey.

“What if Steve was kidnapped?”

“I don’t think he was.”

That’s upsets Tony more than the thought of Steve being kidnapped, which is probably really selfish. Steve just… left. Didn’t even try to make it right between them. Just walked away.

_Just like dad._

They’ve been in the air for a couple hours when Big Ross contacts Tony. “Zemo has been delivered into our custody. Good job, Avengers.”

“What?”

“Wilson is off the hook. Barnes is still a person of interest, but we’ve removed the kill order since he hasn’t harmed anyone. He is to be tried for his previous war crimes, but Zemo has provided us with solid evidence that Barnes wasn’t in control of his actions. Barnes’ll be remanded to a psych facility once he is apprehended.”

“What?”

“The team needs to come in for debrief, and then you’re all on leave until you’re summoned again. See you soon.”

“What?” Tony says again, but Ross has already disconnected the call. “Did everyone hear that, or am I going insane?”

“We all heard it,” says Sam over the comms. Sam, Nat, and Weird Guy are on the other jet, keeping the lines open to play the world’s most boring game of _I Spy_ with Wanda and Peter (they’re in jets, it should be impossible for it to be boring, but there it is). Vision and Rhodey are too old and grumpy to play along. Everyone is feeling shaken and raw, so they’re trying to comfort each other by pretending nothing is happening. They’re still just a big, happy family. “How did Steve transport Zemo all the way back to JCTC? How did he avoid getting re-arrested? I mean, I think they frown pretty heavily on breaking out of jail.”

 “I find it interesting that they didn’t mention Steve at all. I wonder what they’ll say when we ask where he is,” muses Natasha.

“Shit, do you think they re-arrested him without telling us and put him somewhere even more secret?” groans Sam.

“No. I’ll ask about it when we get in. No one else say anything. Remember that we’re not supposed to know anything about what happened to Steve.” Natasha has plans, and Tony feels a little giddy. He loves it when Natasha has _plans_.

“I didn’t sign up to be a spy,” says Peter, voice cracking a little. “I’m really, really bad at lying.”

“It’s okay kid. You’re gonna stay on the jet. No one knows you exist and I want to keep it that way,” says Tony.

“Aw come on! _Some_ people know I exist…” says Peter dejectedly. "...right?"

“Can I stay on the jet too? I don’t want to be debriefed. It sounds painful,” says Weird Guy.

“Yeah, _please_ stay on the jet,” says Sam.

“Sweet.”

When they arrive Big Ross is in yet another meeting, so they are debriefed by Little Ross. It’s very straight forward, everyone offering up their version of events, barring a _few_   Steve shaped details, and answering questions like bosses. It doesn’t escape Tony just how ironic it is that he’s undermining the oversight he campaigned for, the new boundaries that caused a rift between him and Steve. Natasha was right about how it would play out—they’re keeping one hand on the wheel, and using the other to do what’s necessary.

Tony mourns a little for his lost idealism. He really wanted to do this thing right, but it’s just not possible. He doesn’t want to answer to these pricks and he’s really fucking bad at doing stuff he doesn’t want to do.

“Mr. Ross, I wanted to ask about Steve,” says Natasha, now that most of the questions of been answered.

“Oh?” says Little Ross, looking nervous.

“Yes, I was wondering if the charges against him were going to be dropped. We’d like to take him home with us.”

Little Ross clears his throat and says “We already released Rogers. We assumed he had contacted you.”

Natasha smiles like some sort of deadly animal with weapons for teeth; Tony isn’t really poetic enough to describe it without clichés. She looks fucking scary, is what it comes down to. “Ah, I see. Well, hopefully we catch up with him soon. Thank you, Mr. Ross, for your help.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ll keep in touch, Avengers.”

They are cleared for departure and begin exiting the building, but Little Ross comes running after them, calling for Natasha. He pulls her aside and murmurs something in her ear and then he runs off again. Natasha gazes after him, looking slightly dazed.

“What was that about?” asks Sam, frowning after Little Ross.

“I’ve suddenly developed a deep and abiding respect for that man,” says Natasha. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Sam looks very unhappy. Tony rolls his eyes. _Just ask her out already, dingus._

They pile into their respective jets and Tony helps Peter out of the hidey hole.

“Wow, it’s just like in that really old movie, _A New Hope_ , when they hide in the Millennium Falcon,” Peter says with excitement.

“Really, Tony?” asks Rhodey, like it’s Tony’s fault the kid is a fetus.

“I didn’t card him,” shrugs Tony. “He was already beating up bad guys when I found him, Dad!”

“He probably has homework and school projects to do, and you’re dragging him around,” accuses Rhodey.

“No--” says Tony right as Peter says “Nah, I finished it all on the way over here. English homework suuuucks so I have to get it done right away or it just sits in my bag.”

“Oh my god,” whispers Tony. “Kid, you gotta work with me here. They only keep me on this team because I buy them all their toys.”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Peter whispers back, before saying a little too loudly “I mean college homework, obviously. My English class in _college_. Because I am eighteen.”

“He’s not even out of _highschool_?” screeches Rhodey.

“Kid, you’re gonna get me killed.”

“Sorry, sorry Mr. Stark! _Please_ don’t take the suit back. I really, really like it.”

“I’m not a complete tool. You can keep the suit, just… try not to be so young. It’s freaking Rhodey out.”

“I’ll work on it, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony, do you have any idea how wrong--”

“No, I probably don’t, Rhodey!” Tony yells. “I don’t know if it escaped your notice, but I don’t exactly have good judgement! My parents died and I fucked my brain up with drugs and booze, but I’m trying, man. I’m _trying_ to be better. And no, I didn’t think this one through, but we needed super people and Peter is a super people.”

“Fuck, Tony,” Rhodey groans.

“I’m fucked up _. I’m sorry_.”

“Everyone shut up,” yells Sam from the other jet. “I want to know what Ross said. Nat?”

“What makes you think he said anything I’d want to share with the class?” she says. Tony can feel Sam’s heart being twisted in a vice.

“I-I… well…” Sam stutters.

Nat has mercy on him though and says “Pretty sure the JCTC didn’t have legal grounds to move Rogers to the Raft. They made a _huge_ mistake. We’ve got ‘em by the balls if Rogers decides to testify.”

“ _Go on_ ,” Tony prompts, suddenly very interested.

“I suspected something illegal was happening when Mr. Ross let me know Steve had been moved to the Raft, while simultaneously making it clear that I wasn’t supposed to know. I assumed they probably collected blood samples without his consent. My guess was they were going to keep him prisoner indefinitely until they were able to recreate the serum.”

“Fuck,” says Sam.

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s not the first time Thaddeus Ross has tried to restart the super soldier project.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Tony, frowning.

“I… really? Do you just block Bruce out every time he ever talks about the ethics of military funded medical testing? _General_ Thaddeus Ross, Tony,” says Natasha.

“Wait… wait wait wait… That’s the douche that made Bruce all green and smashy?”

“Fuck, how are you this stupid Tony?”

“I’m sorry! I only know him as Big Ross in my head! I didn’t put it together!”

“Yes, he’s the douche that made Bruce green and smashy. So, when we boarded the raft I went through their medical wing, trying to find the blood samples so I could destroy them, but I couldn’t find anything.”

“Shit,” says Sam.

“I was going to, uh, double back later tonight and infiltrate the JCTC medical wing to find the samples. Figured they were probably here, if they weren’t at the Raft, but Ross saved me the trouble.”

“General Ross?”

“No, Everett Ross, Tony. _Jesus_ help me…”

“How did he help?” asks Sam suspiciously.

“He switched the labels on the samples, marked Steve’s blood as old samples waiting for the incinerator.”

“And we trust him that he did this? He could have just said that to make sure you wouldn’t look!”

“I trust him.”

“Why?”

“He had a Black Widow pez dispenser.”

This declaration is met by a long silence.

“I mean, you can’t argue with that,” says Weird Guy.

“Of course Ant Dude thinks that sugary candy is a good reason to trust someone,” says Tony derisively.

“Ant _Man_ , and my name is Scott. _Come on_!”

“Who?” asks Tony, determined to keep this going.

“Never trust a Stark…” Ant douche mutters darkly.

“I’m gonna start calling you Bobby Newport. You look just like Bobby Newport from _Parks and Rec_.”

“Fuck you, man,” says Bobby.

“Bobby Newport’s never had a real job… _in his life_ ,” crows Tony.

“Cut it out Tony,” chides Natasha.

“You really trust him because of a Pez dispenser?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“No, not just because of a pez dispenser. I trust him because I know a liar when I see one, and Everett isn’t a liar.”

“Oh, it’s first names now?”

“Everyone shut up,” yells Rhodey. “We’re going on time-out now. I’m sick of the chatter. I’m starting to get a goddamn migraine.”

“… _I’ll turn this jet around if you kids don’t stop acting up_ ,” Sam mutters mockingly from the other jet.

“Turning comms off now,” yells Rhodey.

Tony’s got a lot of shit to think about. He settles back into his chair and closes his eyes. Wanda winds her way over into his mind, but she doesn’t talk to him, just curls up gently, a comforting scarlet behind his eyelids. He drifts off to sleep and she keeps his nightmares at bay.

~*~

Pepper never mixes business with pleasure. That’s always been Tony’s thing—his annoying, mortifying, unprofessional thing. So, she vowed to herself it was always going to be firmly Tony’s thing. No, sir, Pepper is a good girl. Pepper doesn’t shit where she eats.

But then…

It’s not fair. Tony does it all the time and it looks so easy. Just a quickie and then ignore them until they get the message, as if Tony has anything _but_ casual sex.

They’re on a break, she’s allowed to have meaningless flings. But Pepper’s problem is she doesn’t get wet for someone she doesn’t care about. She can’t fuck without being at least a teeny bit in love. She should have known what would happen.

Maria Hill invites her out for a drink and it’s just gals being pals until three margaritas and a few shots of tequila, and Maria’s fingers find their way under Pepper’s skirt, and Pepper decides “Fuck it, I’m ready for this.”

Pepper knows she’s in trouble because Maria is perfect. Maria is smart, funny, competent, respectful, classy without being snobby, sexual without being cheap, ambivalent about Pepper’s tendency to accidentally burn things when she gets mad, and really, really good in bed. Pepper knows that Maria wants more, but won’t ask for it because when they started fucking it was with the understanding that eventually Tony and Pepper would fix what is broken and start up again. ‘cept that Pepper kind of maybe doesn’t want to fix it anymore? Maybe?

Maria is probably the first real adult that she’s ever had a relationship with. She doesn’t have to nag Maria, or act like Maria’s mother/therapist/personal secretary/sex goddess all rolled into one.

Even if it isn’t Capital “R” Relationship, they have a relationship. They’re friends and they’re having sex. It’s a relationship. Their boundary that they mutually agree on is that there will be no funny business during normal business hours, and no funny business in areas dedicated to work. Private parts are for private quarters and private hours.

But Maria is wearing a beautiful white dress and those heels that make her legs look like the legs of Venus herself, and Pepper needs just one kiss. Then just one more. One moment Maria is laughing gently into Pepper’s mouth, and the next she straightens and takes a respectful step away. Tony barges into the room five seconds later.

“Pep--” he cries, pauses for ten seconds while he looks between Pepper and Maria, and then gasps “Oh my god, _you’re having sexual relations with Hill_!”

“Oh come on!” Pepper yells, throwing her hands up in defeat. “How the fuck did you guess that?”

“Let me go Sherlock Holmes on your asses for a second,” says Tony, and Pepper can’t tell if he’s angry or amused. Probably angry, judging by the vein on his forehead, but he’s hiding it well with banter. “Clue the first, you’re wearing Hill’s lipstick—and it clashes with your dress. Also, it’s smudged, you amateurs. Clue the second, you got your sex face on,” Tony says, waggling his finger at Pepper.

Pepper groans and Maria laughs.

“This is _so_ awkward,” says Maria. “I’m going to leave now and let you two deal with this.”

“I can’t believe you’re abandoning me,” says Pepper miserably.

“Beds, once made, should be lain in,” Maria intones.

“Yeah, you helped me make this one,” Pepper barks as Maria shuts the door. Pepper looks at Tony and her stomach clenches with dread. “So…” she begins.

“So I think we’re, uh, gone from ‘taking a break’ to ‘broken up’?” says Tony, and he looks like he feels the same way Pepper does. Miserable, nauseated, and desperately in need of a drink.

“You need a drink?” Pepper says and Tony nods gratefully. She pours them both a double scotch, and they sit on the small office couch together, Tony’s arm draped across her shoulders. She rests her head against him.

“Didn’t think you swung both ways,” he says finally.

“Me either.”

“I thought Hill was a robot, actually. Like, a special SHEILD sex-bot that Fury made for his special alone times.”

“I haven’t found any wires yet.”

“I bet you’ve been looking real hard,” says Tony, leering at her.

“I… I’m not sorry,” says Pepper, because she isn’t. They discussed this before, about how taking a break meant they were both free to date other people. Pepper knows Tony’s already banged a bunch of leggy blonds in retaliation, but she can’t do meaningless sex. She gazes at Tony levelly, trying to point all of this out without speaking, trying to keep composure, but her lip is trembling. She doesn’t want to hurt Tony, but he’s already said it out loud. They’re not _on_ a break anymore. They’re _broken_.

“Oh, sweetie,” he says, and he kisses her gently. It’s their last kiss and they both know it, so they enjoy it for what it is. It’s filled with the love they still have and the sorrow for a future they are losing; it’s forgiveness, for both of them, and a promise that the essentials won’t change. “You and Rhodey were the greatest loves of my life, and I lost you both.”

“It’s hard to love you and be loved by you sometimes, Tony. You… you love so much, when you remember to. It’s like being loved by the sun. It’s intense, when you’re there, but you go away and it’s like there’s no light anymore.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know how to be better than this. I’m trying _so hard_.”

“Tony, you shouldn’t have to change to make someone happy. If… if you have to change, then it’s just not a good fit. You’re always going to be like this and that isn’t good or bad. It works for some people. Just not for me, anymore.”

“Doesn’t work at all?” he asks, and he’s asking if they’re still friends.

“You’re still my best friend Tony. I love you, forever. I just can’t be everything for you anymore. I need to keep pieces of me safe, you know?”

He nods. “I understand. I hate it and I’m hurt by it, but lord do I understand.”

They hold each other and cry a little more, but then Tony starts making her laugh by recounting all of the things he’s ever done to piss her off.

“Remember the strawberries?” he wheezes, and both of them dissolve into breathless laughter.

“The giant bunny,” she moans, and that sets them off for another three minutes until they’re crying from the laughter, the pain, the sorrow of it all.

A knock on the door has them attempting and failing to calm down, so they shout for whoever it is to come in, laughing and snorting and generally being complete messes.

Maria comes in and the look on her face sobers them up immediately.

“What?” asks Tony, standing up and helping Pepper to stand.

“Barnes has been apprehended at the Avengers Compound. Shall I alert the officials?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck, shit,” says Tony, eyes darting around the room. “No, no, keep this in house for now. Is… is anyone hurt?”

“No, sir.”

“Fuck, okay. Pepper, I’m gonna go deal with this--”

“Tony, he’s _dangerous!_ ”

“Yes, yes he is, but there are _circumstances_.”

“ _Tony._ ”

“Babe, this is the shit that you get to leave behind. Let me deal with it. I’ll be safe, I promise. You… take Maria out, go on a date, be happy with each other. Be disgustingly, amazingly happy. Have a pillow fight and film it for me, maybe. Maybe? Come on!” he dodges Pepper’s shoe. “Baby, come on!”

“Do you always have to be an asshole?” she asks, but she’s already laughing, hobbling lopsidedly to pick up the shoe she threw at him.

“It’s de rigueur” he says, shrugging. He walks to the door, pausing in front of Maria. Her eyebrow quirks at him again. “You treat my girl right, or I’m comin’ for you, lady. I don’t care if you can kill me with your robot powers. I’ll find whatever plug keeps you running, and I’ll rip it from the wall. Capisce?”

“You focus on keeping yourself alive, champ. If you break my girl’s heart by dying I’ll resurrect you and kill you again,” says Maria. Pepper has the horrifying feeling that Maria can make good on that promise. It makes her… tingly.

“So much testosterone,” says Pepper, rolling her eyes.

Maria smirks at her and then turns to shake Tony’s hand. “If you need backup, let me know.”

“Will do, Hill. Keep Pep safe.”

“Will do.”

Tony waves at Pepper and leaves quickly. Once he’s in the elevator Pepper allows herself to dissolve again. “Oh Maria,” she sobs, and Maria is immediately across the room, holding Pepper tight.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. Tony knows what he’s doing.”

“I know, I just…” Pepper tries to put it into words, but all she can say is “it’s really over.”

“He’s going to be okay. He’s a good man, when he wants to be. He’ll find love again if he wants to,” says Maria, who knows exactly what Pepper is worried about.

“I want to go home now,” whispers Pepper. “I can’t concentrate on work.”

“Let me take care of you,” says Maria gently. “I think… champagne, that cheese you really like that I can’t stand, Marvin Gaye, and bubble bath?”

“Make it Bud limeritas, tacos from that food cart I like, the Stark Compound Security Feed, and a Jacuzzi and you’re on.”

“You’re the worst, Pepper.”

“I’m the _best_.”

~*~

The soldier helps his handler find the documents that will complete the mission and then he makes his choice. He parts ways with his handler in Omsk and begins the first mission he has ever assigned to himself: finding a way to wake up Barnes.

So far the soldier has done everything he can think of to wake Barnes.

He remembers that the few times he received a head injury it had helped Barnes leap to the surface, so he… he doesn’t remember what he did to himself when he wakes up, he just knows that his head hurts and his front is covered in blood. He can’t hear Barnes: mission failure.

The helicarrier… he fell from the helicarrier and Barnes woke up, so the soldier throws himself off a bridge into icy water. He washes onto the shore much later, unconscious. When he wakes up he spends an agonizing hour vomiting up river water and willing away the numbness in his limbs. He can’t hear Barnes: mission failure.

 _Steve._ He remembers every time he saw Steve, Barnes cried and carried on, shouted and raged against the bars in their mind until he ripped free and left the soldier in the darkness. He has to find Steve. Steve can wake Barnes up.

The soldier is terrified but… but he has to try. He locates the Avengers compound, which Steve had described to Barnes during one of the many attempts made to tempt him into sticking around. Steve will keep the soldier safe long enough to rescue Bucky. Then it won’t matter anymore. They can’t hurt the soldier ever again, not if the Avengers are keeping Bucky safe.

He becomes the ghost and bypasses every security measure he encounters. It’s difficult, but only marginally so. He’s made it into the building and is creeping towards the residential area when a woman’s voice breaks the silence.

“You are not authorized to be here,” she says. _Irish_ , the soldier thinks. The lights come up but the room is empty.

“I… I need to find Steve,” he says desperately. He’s so close, maybe they’ll help if they just understand. “ _Please_.”

“You are Bucky Barnes,” the woman says, and it isn’t a question.

“No. I need to help Bucky. He’s trapped,” corrects the soldier.

“Trapped?”

“In here,” says the soldier, tapping his head. It’s still covered in blood, somehow, despite his long swim in the river. Maybe the wound opened up again. It probably needs stitches, but the soldier doesn’t know how to do that.

“You are injured,” observes the woman.

“Yes. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“How were you injured?”

“I… I can’t remember. I hit my head.”

“I can direct you to the medical wing, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m not Barnes,” says the soldier impatiently.

“Then… how should I address you?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a name. They just call me the soldier. Or the asset, sometimes.”

“Do you prefer to be addressed as The Soldier or The Asset,” she asks, politely.

“I don’t want to be called either or those. I’m not a thing, I’m a person,” he says gently. He didn’t always know that, but his handler helped him see the truth. He’s a person and he’ll never forget it again.

“And we’re back at square one,” she sighs. “I can name you, if you like.”

“Oh…” he says. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he offers up a tentative “okay?”

There is silence for a few moments and then she says “If you like, I think that Michael suits you. It means ‘gift from god’.”

“I’m not a gift from god,” says the soldier immediately. “Maybe from the other guy.”

“Nonsense. I read all of your files and it’s clear that you are a miracle by any definition of the word.”

“You’re insane,” he mutters, frowning around the room. The voice isn’t coming from a sound system that he can identify. It feels like she’s in the room, but he can’t track her at all. There is no smell, no body heat.

“No, I’m very logical, I assure you.”

“Explain,” he grunts. He hates being confused, because confusion always leads to painful consequences.

“You fell a distance that should have killed any other man, regardless of enhancements, and yet you survived. You were tortured for seventy years and yet the moment you were freed you created a peaceful life without once seeking revenge. You were hunted by the world and yet you didn’t hurt a single person to defend yourself. I am pure logic and I cannot understand you, how you could survive what you survived and yet be the way you are, which means that by the laws of nature and science you are inexplicable. Ergo a miracle. A miracle might also be known as a gift from God, so Michael is the most fitting name for you.”

“Most of that was Barnes,” mutters the soldier.

“I’m not sure that a pure division of that nature is possible, nor that it negates my assertion that you are a miracle. If anything, the fact that you and Barnes coexist as separate entities within the whole, enough that Wanda can detect completely different brain waves, supports my previous assertion that you are indeed a miracle.”

“Okay, I’ll… you can call me Michael,” says Michael. He has a name suddenly. It… it hurts a little, but he thinks he likes it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Michael. Please follow the illuminated path to the medical wing. I have alerted them to your present condition and assured them that you are not a threat. They will not harm you, but if you are carrying any weapons may I suggest you leave them on the coffee table?”

“Oh, right,” says Michael, and he divests himself of his assorted knives and guns. He takes only a step forward before the voice pipes up again.

“All weapons, Michael.”

He freezes and tries to remember what he forgot. “Oh, sorry,” he says, and he slips out of his boots which contain knives hidden away in the soles.

“No worries Michael. I’m sure I’d forget a few knives too if I were carrying an armory. Please, make your way to the medical ward. They’ll fix you right up.”

“Th-thank you,” he says, hesitantly following the bright path that winds its way through the corridors. He is reluctant to leave her behind, her voice soothing and her manner gentle and polite, but she speaks to him again when he is in the hall.

“Your heart rate is elevated Michael. Is there something I can do to assist you?”

“No, no, I’m alright. Just… keep talking to me. It’s nice, I feel like I’m not alone in my head anymore.”

“My pleasure, Michael. I detect that you have been without sustenance for some time. Is there anything that I can order for you?”

“I don’t really know. My handler fed me something, I liked it but I don’t know what it was. It was spicy, and there were noodles. Pieces of vegetables and meat.”

“I will order approximate dishes based on your description. They will be ready for you once your examination is complete.”

“Thank you, uh… What do I call you?” he asks, no longer looking at the ceiling. He’s pretending that her voice is coming from inside his own head and it fills the void that Barnes has left. It is very comforting.

“You may call me Friday, Michael.”

“Friday…”

“It’s sir’s version of a joke, I’m sure. I’m his Gal Friday, his assistant.”

“Sir?”

“Anthony Edward Stark, my creator.”

Michael is confused again. “What do you mean, creator?”

“I am a program, an Artificial Intelligence.”

“You aren’t real?” Michael asks, taken aback.

“I am real, I suppose as real as you, in that I was made and not grown. I think the question you mean to ask is ‘you aren’t a real human?’ which I must affirm. I am not human.”

“You… you don’t sound like a computer.”

“I think of myself as a mind, even if I am virtual. I am told that the fact I think of myself as a _self_ is very frightening, and means that sir has meddled in affairs not meant for mortal men. I’m never sure whether to be offended or not.”

“You’re a person, even if you aren’t human,” Michael says, clarifying it for himself.

“Yes, yes that is a good summary.”

“I’m a person too,” says Michael.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m scared,” he tells her, because he is.

“It’s alright. I get scared too sometimes. Fear is a painful emotion, but it can help us if we listen to it. What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared they’ll hurt me. I’m scared you’re lying to me, and that…”

“These are logical fears, based on your limited knowledge of my intentions and your life experiences to date. I can only tell you that I mean you no harm, that no one here wishes to harm you, and hope that your experiences prove me correct.”

“Thank you,” he says. He isn’t sure what he’s thanking her for, but it seems like the right thing to say. She continues to talk to him as he makes his way to medical, and then she is announcing him as he walks through the double doors. The light is bright and he closes his eyes against it. He cannot see, but he can hear as someone steps forward and addresses him.

“Welcome to Stark Medical Center, Michael.”


	10. Six fingered man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: discussion mentioning self harm, suicidal behavior.

Tony realizes that, in a strange way, he is incredibly grateful that the Winter Soldier has broken into the compound. It has distracted him quite thoroughly from the distressing discovery that Pepper has moved on.

 _Hill_. He _seriously_ didn’t see that coming. He’s going to throw a tantrum about it later when everything has calmed down, he can feel the rage boiling up inside him. But right now he’s speeding home, making the two hour drive in an hour. He slams on the brakes before he crashes, sending up a spray of gravel, and runs towards the entrance just as Rhodey throws the doors open.

“Tony!” he calls.

 “Where--” Tony says as he collapses into Rhodey’s arms.

“Medical wing. Everyone is fine, Barnes… sorry, _Michael_ ,” Rhodey rolls his eyes and Tony is totally going to ask about that when he can breathe again “is resting right now. He had an impact wound to the head that looks like it’s been untreated for a week, an infection in his lungs, a broken rib, and appears to be suffering from severe malnutrition and dehydration. He’s sedated right now.”

“Shit…” says Tony, a little calmer now that he knows no one is dead. He told Hill not to call the authorities and regretted it the entire drive. Rhodey is gently rubbing his back, allowing Tony to cling in a way he usually discourages. It’s always boundaries, boundaries, boundaries. Hugs but no cuddles, handshakes but no hand holding. But right now Tony soaks in the physical affection he desperately needs, and it seems like maybe Rhodey needs it too because he’s clinging just as hard.

“Pepper called,” says Rhodey quietly.

“Fuck,” says Tony. He doesn’t pull away from Rhodey though, just hides his face in Rhodey’s neck.

“She told me.”

“You two never do anything but gossip about me,” accuses Tony, but there’s no anger in his voice. He’s wrung out like an emotional sponge, too tired right now to summon up the outrage he knows he should be feeling.

“We’re the only members of the Tony Stark Support Group. We gotta talk about you, or what’s the point of the group?”

“I hate both of you,” grumbles Tony.

“I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

“So. Two for two,” Tony says, and Rhodey sighs with exasperation.

“You are such an overachiever, you know that? God, you drive me crazy. You were eighteen when we started dating, okay? How many people are still with someone they were dating when they were that young? Almost no one! And I’m still in your life, I’m still your best friend, man. That’s _even rarer_.”

“Yeah, but I was in my thirties when I started dating Pep. We should be married by now…” Tony grumbles.

“Come on, Tony, you can’t place expectations on stuff like that. It’s not like anyone is grading you on this shit. But I think if they _were_ they’d give you an A++ for the fact that the two people you had real relationships with are still your friends, and haven’t even murdered you in your sleep yet.”

“I think you guys get the good grades for not killing me…”

“Hell yeah, we get good grades for that, but so do you. You’re a good person, Tony. I love you for a _reason_. I’m not that much of a gold digger, you know? Lots of billionaires I could choose to be friends with that are less… _difficult_.”

“I just… It hurts, I guess. I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I feel like I failed,” he whispers into Rhodey’s neck. Rhodey places his hands on Tony’s shoulders gently and pulls back to look Tony in the eyes.

“You did nothing wrong, with either of us. Our relationship ended because I wasn’t able to give you the attention you needed, and it was killing you. I wanted my military career and you wanted us to start a life I wasn’t ready for. Our timing was off, but it wasn’t because you were unlovable, or a complete asshole, or whatever you think it was.”

Tony winces, tries to keep the tears under control. He really wanted a life with Rhodey and it still hurts sometimes.

“Please tell me you believe that,” whispers Rhodey.

Tony nods slowly, closing his eyes and biting his lip.

“And you and Pep… Tony, her biggest complaint was that you _wanted to save the world_. She didn’t leave you because you cheated on her, or abused her, or anything like that. She had to end it because _she_ wasn’t selfless enough to let you be a hero. Both of you were too selfish to compromise, Tony.”

“Why can’t I make a normal relationship work? _What is wrong with me_?” Tony says miserably.

“Maybe you can’t make a normal relationship work because you don’t need a _normal_ relationship,” says Rhodey. “Maybe you need to be with someone who’s as crazy, demanding, dramatic, and wonderful as you. Someone who wants to go off and save the world _with_ you. You just haven’t found them yet.”

 “Emotions are for losers,” Tony insists, wiping his eyes.

“Guess you’re a loser then. Welcome to the club.”

Tony flips him off, but the gentle taunting makes him feel better. Makes him feel less delicate. Fake it ‘til you make it, after all. He’s always pretending he’s fine and he’s not going to stop now.

“So, who the hell is Michael?”

“Oh man, Friday gave the Winter Soldier his very own name. It was… special. Watched the whole thing on the security feeds in the safe room while I chilled in a puddle of my own pee. I’m not sure what’s up with her, but she was singing to him while he fell asleep in medical. You might want to have a talk with her about not adopting assassins. It’s concerning.”

“…singing? I didn’t program her to sing. She never sings to _me_!” He is insanely jealous. Why has he never been serenaded by any of his inventions? It’s very unfair.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Tony. You outdid yourself again. I think you made an AI that’s capable of developing a crush on someone.”

“Well, Vision,” says Tony, shrugging. He knows Vision isn’t Jarvis, completely, but he’s a _little_ Jarvis, so Tony feels a _little_ responsible. At least 50% responsible. It’s probably the closest he’s ever going to get to being a father. “He and Wanda still having a fight?”

“That boy needs to pull his head out of his ass. I’ve never seen Wanda so mad, not even after that phase where Vision decided it was totally okay to repeatedly barge in on her in the shower.”

“He takes after his old man,” says Tony.

“Yeah, well as his old man I think you need to give him _the talk_ before Wanda murders him.”

“He doesn’t even have the parts to _have_ sex. I don’t know why he’s so… teenage boy right now.”

“It’s freaky. It’s almost like you really did have a kid.”

Tony sighs and hugs Rhodey again. “I am exhausted, Rhodey. I think I’m going to sleep for a week.”

“So you’re leaving me to deal with the assassin in sickbay?”

“You’re a peach, Rhodes.”

“No, Tony, absolutely not--” Rhodey argues as Tony begins strolling quickly towards the entrance, ignoring Rhodey and trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.

~*~

They have treated his wounds, provided him with clean clothing, and a soft bed. He can’t eat the noodle dishes that Friday ordered because the doctors insist that eating solid food will hurt him right now, but they give him something sweet to drink. Once he has finished gulping it down the throbbing migraine that has been raging behind his right eye for the last week finally dissipates. They offer him a mild sedative, and he takes it because they are gentle with him and he wants to keep them happy. He falls asleep easily and when he returns to consciousness it is slow and unrushed, lazy and sweet in a way he didn’t know was possible.

He wonders if he died. Barnes believed in a heaven, believed he’d been shut out for some egregious sin he couldn’t remember. Michael wishes that Barnes could feel this, because then he’d know he was wrong. They finally made it through the fire.

When he opens his eyes and sits up, Friday alerts the doctors who come filtering in to continue check-ups. They give him another glass of the sweet drink and he chugs it greedily, despite their warnings that he should consume it slowly to prevent the chances of throwing it back up. They underestimate his control over the body.

Michael is tuning the doctors out as they listen to his lungs and check his various wounds. He knows that the bone is healed and the infection is almost gone. He can feel it. Rest and nutrient restoration were all he needed in order for the body to knit itself back together. He forgets that he’s alive sometimes and he vows to remember to eat and sleep regularly. This isn’t really his body, it’s Barnes’, and he won’t be responsible for ruining it before he can give it back.

There is a pressure building in his abdomen, uncomfortable and foreign until he remembers that the body excretes waste when it intakes sustenance. He asks for the toilet and they direct him, giving him instructions to deposit his waste into a strange contraption they set into the bowl. They explain that it’s important to analyze his fecal matter in order to determine the status of his health, especially after malnutrition. He isn’t sure why they give him this information, all they needed to ensure his compliance was to give him the command, but he nods quietly, acknowledging the nurse who is explaining everything. The nurse closes the bathroom door and Michael allows the body to function as needed.

Michael remembers to wash his hands and he takes a moment to look at the mirror. The wound in his forehead is already healing, the edges closed up. They will need to remove the stitches tomorrow. His stubble had grown into a beard, and it feels strange on his face. He doesn’t look like Barnes right now and he timidly wonders what it would be like to have his own body, one that didn’t make him feel guilty, as though he’s stolen something.

He leaves the bathroom and finds the crowd left, leaving a single man who stands in the middle of the room, staring at Michael with a guarded expression. Not a doctor, or the man who introduced himself as Rhodey last night. This man is shorter, with dark brown hair, a fastidiously shaped goatee, and nervous energy like a horse prepared to bolt or a dog set to attack on command.

“Hey,” the man greets him. “So… Michael?”

“Yes,” he acknowledges, sitting down on the bed.

“Friday named you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m the man that named Friday. You can call me Tony,” he says, extending a hand that trembles slightly. Michael takes it, shakes it gently. Tony withdraws it instantly as though he’s been burned. “Uh, pleasure to meet you, I guess.”

“You are Iron Man?” Michael asks, vaguely remembering details that Steve had given to Barnes before their disastrous parting of the ways.

“Yeah,” says Tony.

“I killed your parents,” says Michael, offering what limited information he can remember, looking at the wall and frowning a little as he tries to remember the circumstances. Tony lets out a harsh breath like he’s been punched in the gut and Michael looks back at him.

“Wow, shit, okay,” says Tony. His face is going a little red and he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously. “I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation with you. Like, ever.”

“I’m sorry, for killing them,” says Michael, earnestly. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Do you have any idea how much you fucked my life up?” Tony asks quietly. Michael can see the rage in Tony’s fists, in the tightness of his mouth, in the brightness of his eyes.

“No,” whispers Michael.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Tony holds up one finger, counting off each issue as he divulges it. “After mom and dad died, instead of dealing with my grief I got my hands on every illegal substance it was possible to get my hands on, and let me tell you, being a genius heir to a massive fortune meant I could get my hands on a lot. I spent fifteen years battling addiction to cocaine _and_ morphine, and I’m _still_ an alcoholic.”

He holds up a second finger. “I am nearly incapable of establishing a stable, intimate relationship because I’m terrified of being abandoned. I’ve had two, in my entire life, and I wasn’t able to keep either going longer than two years. Most of the time I have sex with random strangers, and let me tell you I am a connoisseur of risky sex behaviors. I’m lucky my dick hasn’t fallen off from some mega-STD.”

He holds up a third finger. “I have untreated bi-polar disorder, self-diagnosed, because the two times I’ve tried to go to a therapist they recorded my sessions and sold them to the tabloids. Well, the second therapist tried to, but I caught her and sued her ass before she got even a dime. Only person I might have been able to talk to about any of it fell asleep while I was trying to open up. Let me tell you, that was a real slap in the face.”

He holds up a forth finger. “I also have untreated PTSD, stemming from months of torture at the hands of a terrorist cell that kidnapped me on the orders of the only man who actually felt like a father to me, carrying a nuke through a portal onto the other side of the universe during a fucking alien invasion and witnessing eldritch horrors that I am incapable of describing even if I wanted to talk about it, having a missile blow up my house while I was _still in it,_ watching the woman I love fall into a massive explosion, being personally responsible for nearly ending the world--”

Tony begins to hyperventilate and Michael jumps up to help him sit on the ground. Michael remembers Barnes doing this for Steve, so he guides Tony’s head until it’s lowered and rubs his back with the flesh hand while gently placing the cold metal of his other hand against the back of Tony’s neck. After long minutes it seems to work and Tony lets out a shaky breath.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry that I was responsible for… for all of that,” says Michael. “I don’t think I can make it right, but… if I can do anything, whatever you want, I will do it.”

“If I wanted you to castrate yourself with the lid of a rusted can?” growls Tony.

“In an instant,” says Michael. It’s true, he would obey any command given to him without question.

“If I wanted to sell you to the highest bidder?’

“I’m yours to sell,” says Michael, again because it’s true.

“If I wanted to dissect you with a spoon?”

“I am yours.”

“I want you to give my parents back,” says Tony, voice breaking. Michael wraps his arms around Tony as he breaks down sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” murmurs Michael. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been in this situation before. Vague memories of Barnes comforting his sister guide him through the physical motions of comfort, the verbal cadence of compassion, but it’s like steering a car with someone else’s hands. It seems to be working though, Tony is calming down again, isn’t pushing him away. Michael still mutters his apologies like prayer at mass, but eventually he stills too. They are silent together, Tony resting in Michael’s arms for a while, until he moves away and they disentangle.

“This is the weirdest fucking week of my life,” says Tony.

“I’m sorry,” says Michael compulsively. Tony grins sadly.

“You don’t need to keep doing that, kid. I know… I know if you’d had a choice, if you could do it again, you’d do it different.”

Michael nods sadly, shoulders hunching up as he hugs himself. “I’ve hurt so many people.”

“I can’t speak for any of your other victims, but… I don’t hate you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself again, either,” says Tony, frowning at the wound on Michael’s forehead. “That’s self-inflicted, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Were you trying to kill yourself?” There is no judgment, only curiosity.

“No. I thought maybe if I hit my head, Barnes would come back. Then I remembered falling off the helicarrier and Barnes waking up in the water, so I jumped off a bridge, but it only knocked me unconscious.”

“That’ll explain the infection in your lungs,” muses Tony. “And the broken rib?”

“I don’t know, I was in the water for a while. I might have knocked into something.”

“Why did you come here?” asks Tony, cocking his head a little.

“I thought maybe if I saw Steve that Barnes would come back. They had to reprogram us the last two times we saw Steve. Barnes broke through the programming too quickly.”

“Steve isn’t here. We had a fight and he left, and I don’t know where he is,” admits Tony, eyes downcast.

“Oh…” Michael doesn’t know what to do now. Steve was his only chance. Where will he go now? How can he find Steve? “I’ll leave. I’m sorry that I-I’m sorry,” says Michael, standing up in a fluid motion.

“Nah, stick around,” says Tony. “Get better, heal a little, maybe let me take a look at that arm. Sounds like something is stuck in one of the plates. I can fix that for you.”

Michael regards Tony intently, then nods. “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Tony claps his hands together in a way that seems pleased. “Bully! I’ll arrange an apartment for you, once you’re discharged.”

Before Michael can thank him, Tony is up and out of the room. Michael gets back into the bed and under the covers, contemplating the ceiling.

“Friday?”

“Yes, Michael.”

“Can you tell me more about Tony?”

~*~

Steve has been in Wakanda for a month and he still isn’t used to it. He wakes up each morning in a strange bed and turns to look out the large window that frames an amazing view of the rainforested valley that stretches for miles. It should be beautiful. It would be beautiful, but he feels like he’s living in twilight. Everything is dull, and it’s hard to wake up in the mornings.

After he’d left the Avengers behind he’d stumbled outside and witnessed T’challa preventing Zemo from taking his own life. He helped restrain Zemo and T’challa offered to transport Steve back to his home. At some point Steve decided he didn’t want to go home, still too angry and upset, and T’challa had offered Steve asylum in Wakanda.

Steve stopped being angry at Tony as soon as he landed in Wakanda and realized he missed his friend. Tony would have wanted to be there to see the advanced technology and to make fun of Steve for not understanding it. Wakandan technology is miles ahead of any technology in the west; Steve doesn’t have to be Tony to understand that much.

Now Steve is far away from the comforting normality that he had finally found with his team. He is once again plunged into a culture he doesn’t understand with a history he doesn’t know, and references he doesn’t get.

But still, he has made friends with one of T’challa’s guards, a woman named Okoye who spars with him when he cannot find rest. She is strong and fast, and a clever fighter. They do not talk to each other really, but they sit together sometimes in the garden in a comfortable silence.

He spends his days with T’challa searching every corner of the globe for Bucky, using a very sophisticated facial recognition software that’s running near constantly. No luck so far and it’s making Steve feel like he’s going insane.

“I have to find him, I have to,” he says frantically.

“We will find him,” soothes T’challa, who is very patient. More patient than Steve deserves, really. Kinder than he deserves, too.

His guilt over what he said to Tony eats him alive sometimes. Okoye finds him in the garden one morning, sulking. She raises an eyebrow, reminding him of Nat. It hurts, how much he misses Nat. As Okoye sits with him it all tumbles out without prompting, the last thing he said to Tony, the way he left it with everyone, how everyone hates him now because he hurt Tony, and he deserves it. It’s what he deserves for letting Bucky die, for crashing his plane into the ice, for challenging God and the order of things.

“You need to stop,” says Okoye, frowning at him. “I do not know what you are trying to accomplish when you say these things, but your self-flagellation helps no one. It hinders you, prevents you from doing what is needed.”

“I… but I should feel bad, shouldn’t I?”

“How you feel is incidental. You have hurt someone, have you not? Then why is your main concern about what _you_ are feeling?”

Steve blinks at her, taken aback. “You’re right. I’m making this about me.”

“So fix it.” She leaves him sitting on the garden wall, contemplating her words.

He must do what is needed, but first he must figure out what that is.

The next day he asks T’challa for his opinion.

“It is hard to apologize for things said in anger,” says T’challa, thoughtfully. “You meant what you said in that moment, even if you would not mean it now, and Tony will never forget that. He knows now that you felt that way, even if only briefly.”

“I want to take it back,” groans Steve.

“You can’t take it back, it is there now. You will have to work hard to make amends, but it will not be undone with an apology. Think of what you said and then determine what you must do to _show_ Tony that you do not believe your own words any longer.”

“I told him that he didn’t care about doing the right thing. I said he wasn’t interested in the impact of his decisions until it was too late. I basically told him that I don’t think he’s a good man,” Steve says, head hanging low in shame.

“You will have to work very hard, Steve. You will not heal that wound easily.”

Steve takes a day off from his search for Bucky, entrusting it to T’challa. He sits in his room and thinks about Tony and their friendship, about how his opinion of the man changed so much after the disastrous beginning of their relationship. They hated each other and he’s not sure when that changed exactly.

Certainly he had a better opinion of Tony after the man put his life on the line without a second thought. It’s hard not to respect someone for that kind of heroism, but he didn’t realize he liked Tony until one morning shortly after they’d all moved in together, following the demise of SHEILD. Tony had wandered into the kitchen while Steve and Clint ate breakfast, busy ignoring each other like decent people.

“I’m going to educate you,” said Tony menacingly, sitting down next to Steve. “I can’t handle you not knowing how amazingly brilliant and funny I am even a second longer.”

“Okay?” said Steve, frowning a little at the manic gleam in Tony’s eye.

“Movie. Night.” Hissed Tony, leaning in uncomfortably close.

“Fuck yeah!” shouted Clint too loudly from his seat across the table, lip reading. His hearing aids were being repaired after a disastrous prank involving custard had backfired on him. “I wanna watch _Homeward Bound_!”

“Put it on the list,” said Tony, still staring at Steve.

“Please, stop looking at me like that,” said Steve shifting uncomfortably.

“I will make you understand,” whispered Tony.

“Why are you being so weird?” asked Steve glaring at Tony. “Have you been up for longer than two days again? Tony, you know you shouldn’t do that, it makes you like _this_.”

“When you see how funny I am, you’ll have to be my friend,” insisted Tony.

“We _are_ friends,” said Steve, confused. Weren’t they? They lived together, worked together, and spent free time together without actively getting into fist fights. That almost meant they were best friends, in Steve’s books.

“Are we?” asked Tony, his creepy intensity faltering, replaced by confusion.

“I thought so,” said Steve. “And I already know you’re brilliant and funny, even if I don’t understand all your references.”

“I… you do?”

“Yes, Tony. You’re also annoying and a pain in my ass, but we can have movie night if you promise to never look at me like that again. Also if you promise to take a nap and a shower.”

“Yay!” shouts Clint, thrusting his arms up into the air. “Movie night!”

“Movie night?” says Natasha, walking into the kitchen. “I’m in, but only if you promise not to make us watch _Homeward Bound_.”

It was the first time Steve could recall someone wanting to be his friend that openly since he became Captain America. Sure, there were people who wanted to be friends with _Captain America_ , but Steve knew that Tony _hated_ Captain America, which meant that Tony wanted to be friends with _Steve_.

He hasn’t had someone _demand_ to be his friend like that. Not since Bucky.

Steve and Bucky met by getting into a fist fight. Bucky’d seen Steve struggling to carry his books and tried to help. Steve thought Bucky was trying to steal his books and had gone off, a skinny tornado of fists and anger. He landed a good hit against Bucky’s jaw before Bucky hit back and laid him flat.

“What the hell?” Bucky cried. “I was trying to help!”

“You were trying to steal my books!” shouted Steve, struggling to stand up. Bucky reached down to grab Steve’s hand, but Steve tried to kick him.

“Calm down, you jack ass,” said Bucky, bending over to pick up the books instead.

“Stop trying to steal my books!” cried Steve desperately, crawling over to smack Bucky’s hands away. Bucky sat back on his heels and watched Steve place the books back into a neat pile, struggling to lift them.

“Be my friend,” said Bucky.

“What?” asked Steve, incredulous.

“Be my friend,” explained Bucky, “so that I can help you carry your books without getting socked in the jaw.”

The promise of friendship was all it took to lower Steve’s defenses, and it was the same way with Tony. They spent more time together after that, developing a deep friendship that made Steve feel like he had a home again, for the first time since he lost Bucky in the aftermath of HYDRA’s return.

He knows that T’challa is right, that the only way to fix anything is with action, but words still need to lead the way. He has to apologize first. After a few hours he has a letter that says most of what he feels he needs to say. He reads it one more time to make sure.

 

_Tony,_

_Do you remember the first time we met? Really met? When we took off the gloves and said what we really thought about each other. I said that I knew guys with nothing that were worth ten of you, and you said that everything special about me came out of a bottle._

_You were right and I was wrong, Tony. I don’t know anyone, apart from Bucky, who is as good and selfless as you are. I don’t know anyone who works as hard as you do to make the world better. It’s not your fault that someone twisted that, took advantage of your generosity and used it to make the world darker. There will always be men who look at goodness and see weakness, and it’s up to brave men like you to keep being good anyway._

_You are brave and good, Tony. If I know anything, I know that._

_I can’t take back what I said. In my shock and rage I believed my words, and I let it make me a coward. I let myself believe that you were willfully, criminally uninterested in your impact on the world rather than confront the fact that bad men find ways to twist our best intentions. It would force me to confront the fact that I served HYDRA, despite my best intentions. Innocent people died because I wasn’t willing to work harder to find the truth._

_But the real truth that I didn’t want to see is that sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you try. Sometimes bad people do bad things and we can’t stop it._

_I haven’t had a family in a long time, Tony. I’ve been alone since I was 18, and I never really fit in anywhere. It’s something I want but I don’t know how to have. The Avengers are your family, more than they’re mine. It’s always been that way._

_So please don’t be alone._

_I hurt you and I can’t fix it with words. Someday I’ll be able to prove to you that I don’t believe a single word of what I spat at you. But until then, Tony, I want you to know that I’ll be here when you need me. All you have to do is call me and I’ll be there to stand with you._

_-Steve_

T’challa helps him purchase two burner phones, programming Steve’s number into the phone for Tony that he tucks into the package with the letter. He keeps his phone on and charged at all times, tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t think that it will ever ring, but he will hold the vigil all the same.

Four days later it rings and buzzes loudly in his pocket. He nearly knocks his plate off the table trying to answer it before it stops ringing.

“T-Tony?”

“You are such an unbelievable asshole, Steven Grant Rogers!” shouts Tony.

“Tony, I’m so sorry--”

“I know! Shut up! I’m yelling at you right now!”

“Right, yes, sorry Tony.”

“You disappear for a month, no word to let us know you’re safe and haven’t been kidnapped by the Russians, and then I get a damn package addressed to ‘Tony Stank’. Tony Stank, Steve. Do you know how obnoxious Rhodey has been? The jokes are never ending, Steve.”

“I’m sorry Tony,” says Steve, burying his head in his hand.

“Shut up! I’m still yelling!”

“Right, sorry.”

“And then, on top of all of that, you make me take care of your brainwashed boyfriend for weeks! Weeks, Steve, and no way to contact you.”

“What?” breathes Steve.

“Yes, that’s right, your boyfriend broke into the compound about a week after you went off to god-knows-where to sulk. You and Bruce having a party or something? An ‘assholes only’ party?”

“Bucky?”

“Sort of. He’s still… Steve, you need to come back,” Tony isn’t yelling anymore. “I need you here. I feel like, I don’t know… I’m not what he needs. I’m trying to fix him and I can’t.”

“Tony…” says Steve.

“I’m being nice to him, I promise. I’m making sure he’s eating and not alone and stuff, but I feel like I’m going to fuck it up anyway.”

“You won’t, Tony,” says Steve immediately. “I trust you.”

Tony inhales sharply on the other end of the line, but doesn’t say anything.

“That man is the most important person on the planet to me, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know that he’s been with you this entire time. I’ve been tearing my hair out, worrying about worst case scenarios, and I never even imagined a best case scenario. You, Tony. You are the _best_ thing that could happen to Bucky.”

“Pretty sure that’s you,” says Tony.

“No, Tony. It’s you. If you’re giving him a chance he’ll _have_ to believe me when I tell him that it’s possible to be forgiven.”

“You’re placing a lot of faith in me, Steve. I don’t know if I can forgive him like that.”

“I know you, Tony. If you let him be anywhere _near_ our friends it’s because you see good in him. That’s enough.”

“Yeah, alright, maybe” sighs Tony. “It’s hard to explain what’s happening over the phone. I need you here. Please come back.”

“I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“You ever pull a stunt like this again I’m attaching one of those tracking tags they clip to endangered marine animals. Clipping it right through your ear, Steve.”

“Never again, Tony.”

“Swear on the Statue of Liberty, Captain tight-pants.”

“I swear on _Bucky_. I will never walk away from you like that again.”

 “… Get your ass back home, cap.”

The call disconnects and Steve stares at the phone in his hand, feeling like he’s been punched in the face. Bucky is safe and Tony is taking care of him. Two impossible things in one day.

He gets up to find T’challa. He’s going home.


	11. Rotten Miracles

While the Avengers are led by a combo of Tony and Steve on the field, they look to Pepper for direction off the field. Technically she’s only supposed to run Stark Industries, but because Pepper runs Stark Industries (Tony), and Stark Industries (Tony) fund the Avengers, Pepper sorta kinda runs the Avengers too. At least 12%.

Most days she resents it immensely.

On the days when she has to scramble to find legal defense strong enough to withstand the lawsuits that are aimed at them like bullets, the days when someone gets injured and she has to spend agonizing hours simultaneously worrying for a friend and fielding the media, or the days when the call to assemble disrupts her carefully planned life, she hates running the Avengers.

She took a break from the Avengers at the same time she took a break from Tony and it gave her a chance to catch her breath, which was a good thing because now she’s being asked to help the Avengers with a _situation._

That situation being a dissociated Bucky Barnes, ex-assassin and HYDRA war criminal. Pepper, currently, is drumming up a legal defense and battle plan for the PR fallout should his presence with the Avengers become known. It is nerve wracking, to say the least.

But despite the stress and the demands, and Tony whining at her constantly, she’s having a hard time feeling resentful.

“I had a Bucky Barnes lunch box and binder, and a poster on my wall, and a Bucky Barnes special edition G.I. Joe,” she confides to Maria, who snorts in response. “I mean, I know technically he isn’t Bucky Barnes right now, but he _looks_ like Bucky Barnes and I feel like I’m thirteen again.”

“Should I be worried?” asks Maria, peering at Pepper over a stack of paperwork with amusement.

“Only if he turns back into Bucky Barnes,” says Pepper, wiggling her eyebrows as Maria giggles.

“I’m willing to fight for our love,” declares Maria, shaking a pen at Pepper.

“It would be no contest,” says Pepper fondly. “You have a much better ass.”

“You’ve been looking at his ass?”

“I look at everybody’s ass. I’m an ass man,” says Pepper, sitting back in her chair and tenting her fingers, smirking at Maria.

“You’re obnoxious is what you are,” says Maria, but not without a subtle tenderness. They grin at each other for a few moments, comfortable and affectionate, before Maria bites her lip and glances away, a strange expression crossing her face.

“What’s wrong?” asks Pepper, sitting forward attentively.

“I wanted to talk… ask you, about something,” says Maria, looking back up and meeting Pepper’s gaze. She realizes that the expression on Maria’s face is trepidation. Maria never looks anxious, so Pepper is immediately concerned.

“Okay?” says Pepper, cycling through worst case scenarios. _She wants to break up with me, she’s picking back up with Fury and going into the field, she’s been diagnosed with a chronic illness_ —

“I wondered if, since you’re officially single now, you might want to move in together.”

Pepper is surprised and doesn’t respond immediately, which goads Maria into explaining anxiously.

“I mean, I’m not asking you to marry me. I know there’s… there’s a stereotype about lesbians and moving fast. That’s not what it is, entirely. I just… I like you. You’re one of my best friends, and I’d like to see you at the end of the day. I also worry sometimes that if something happens, if we’re attacked, I won’t be able to get to you in time. We lead dangerous lives, and you’ve been threatened and kidnapped before…”

“I mean, technically I have super powers now. I can set things on fire with my body,” says Pepper, wiggling her fingers.

“I know, I know,” says Maria weakly, her face a surprising shade of red. She’s never looked this flustered before. “Never mind, it was silly.”

“It wasn’t a no,” says Pepper, grinning as Maria’s face lights up cautiously. “I just wanted to point out that if anyone is gonna be saving anyone, it’s _me_ that’s gonna save _you_.”

“So… yes?”

“I think it sounds nice,” says Pepper. It would be nice to come home to someone, to make a home with someone. “Yes,” she says, just to make sure it’s obvious she was saying yes.

Maria doesn’t say anything, doesn’t get up from the table to squeal or tackle Pepper. She just smiles and nods her head once in a ‘that’s that’ sort of way, and goes back to her paperwork. It’s one of the things that Pepper loves about Maria, the efficiency of her emotions. There is no unnecessary fanfare, no drama, no peacocking.

As though summoned, Tony’s name pops up on her phone. She sighs and takes the call. “Tony.”

“Peeeeeeeepper,” he whines into the phone, long and loud, making her wince in aggravation.

“Oh my god, stop making that noise.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh,” Tony groans out, sounding like a dying car horn.

“I will hang up this phone.”

“Sorry, sorry. I need you to come to the compound.”

Pepper sighs. “Microwave explosion?”

“No--”

“Nerf fight that got too serious and ended in a stab wound?”

“Oh my god, no, we’re not stupid.”

“Tony…”

“Not stupid enough to do it a second time. Thor is banned from all future nerf wars, you know this. You made us sign _documents_.”

“Radioactive lizards?”

“No, Pep, that was a one-time thin--”

“Clint got his hand stuck in a mayonnaise jar again?”

“Clint is _retired_ \--”

“Someone thought they saw a bee and now everyone is jammed in the janitor’s closet?”

“ _Bee Movie_ was terrifying, you can’t blame us for that!”

“Someone put coffee grounds in the sink?”

“No, stop that! Listen to me, damn it!”

“I’m just trying to save time, Tony. I’m not coming to the compound to be everyone’s mom, okay? I come over to address legal issues, conduct PR training, supervise audits, and to enjoy team nights when Wanda cooks, and that is _it_. I’m too busy to clean up messes I didn’t get to enjoy making.”

“I need help with _Michael_ ,” Tony says with exasperation. “He’s _sad_.”

Pepper suppresses the sympathetic coo that rises to her lips, because it will mean defeat. Tony will press his advantage, he’ll describe how cute and sad Michael ( _Bucky Barnes_ ) is. She has to be firm, she has to hold fast or Tony will never learn to deal with the day to day problems of managing these people.

“No, Tony. If he’s sad then you need to have him sit down with a therapist.”

“I did, Pepper. He talks to _two_ therapists a week. He’s still sad.”

“Lots of bad things happened to him, it’s not surprising he’s sad. It’s only been a couple weeks since he found stability, so you need to expect him to be sad for quite a while.”

“But… but he keeps coming to my lab and sitting in the corner. He stares at me like I kicked him!”

“Give him something to do, Tony!”

“Aaagh, I just want to be left alone!” Something crashes in the background and Tony curses.

“Then lock the lab,” she suggests, feeling a sympathetic twinge for Michael ( _Bucky Baaaarnes_ ).

“But then he’ll be _alone_ and it makes him _sadder_.”

“What do you think I’ll be able to do for him, Tony?”

“Be his friend or something. Distract him. Give me 48 hours to finish this project without worrying that the Winter Soldier needs a hug or a sandwich or a gallon of whiskey.”

“If you don’t want to be his friend, get him working with the team. They’ll adopt him in no time, you know how they are. Like the Island of Misfit Toys over there.”

“Natasha doesn’t like him, Sam doesn’t like anyone that Natasha doesn’t like, and Vision is too busy trying to hump Wanda’s leg.”

“What is _Wanda_ doing?”

“Are you asking me to throw my precious baby girl into the path of that metal armed maniac?” Tony asks, genuinely offended.

“She is not _your_ baby girl, she is not a _baby_ , and that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Anyway, I’m hanging up now. I have _work_ to do.” She ends the call before she has to hear his protest and turns the ringer to vibrate.

“Good job,” says Maria, smiling as Pepper blushes from the praise.

“Thanks,” Pepper says as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, ducking her head shyly. Maria kicks her foot gently under the table, and they spend the rest of the day playing intermittent games of footsie and giggling.

Pepper only feels a little guilty. Less than 12% guilty.

~*~

“Waaaaandaaaaaa,” Tony whines over the intercom. Wanda hisses and turns it down with a flick of the wrist.

“What are the two things I hate the most, Stark?” asks Wanda, pressing her hand over her eyes and trying to will away the migraine that’s been stalking her for over a day. It’s her fault, she went too deep into a trance and now her physical body is retaliating.

“You hate it when I whine and when I elongate the vowels in your name,” he quotes dutifully.

“So you are actively attempting to make me mad,” she surmises.

“I’m attempting to manipulate you into helping me by introducing an unpleasant stimulus that will be removed once I’ve secured your agreement,” he clarifies.

“Negative reinforcement doesn’t work well on me, you know this,” she says.

“Waaaaaandaaaaaaa,” Tony begins again.

“I can make it so that you think Justin Hammer is irresistibly attractive,” she threatens.

“Shutting up now,” he says, a hint of real fear in his voice.

“What do you want, Tony?”

“I want 48 hours to complete my project without having to babysit the sad robot puppy assassin.”

“Oh, you want me around Michael now?” Wanda asks, incredibly irritated. “You and Vision decided I’m grown up enough to look after myself? I can walk around the compound without an armed guard?”

“I get it, I get it. I _know_ I’m a hypocrite.”

“Explain why you are a hypocrite. I wonder if you actually know.”

Tony sighs into the intercom. “I infantilize you when it suits me, and then I expect you to take care of me when I need you.”

“If I help you with Michael that will stop. You will no longer indulge Vision in his obsession with monitoring me, and you will back off when I tell you I have a situation under control.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You are not a Scout, Tony.”

“I’m borrowing the honor? Pay it back with interest?”

Wanda sighs and sits up. “Where is Michael?”

“You are getting an army of ponies for Christmas,” coos Tony. “He’ll be getting out of therapy in the next twenty minutes. Keep him out of here for 48 hours, Wanda. I’m begging you.”

The first hurdle is avoiding Vision, who took to Tony’s directive to keep Michael away from Wanda with gusto. Even if Tony told Vision to back off, Vision is… aggravatingly persistent about keeping Wanda safe. Sometimes it’s sweet, but these days it’s driving Wanda crazy. A confrontation is coming but Wanda doesn’t have the energy to deal with it today, so she melts into the shadows and walks unhindered and unnoticed, passing by Vision who is quietly playing chess against himself in the common room, to the medical wing.

She allows herself to become noticeable when Michael emerges through the double doors, still looking lost but a little more solid these days. He pauses when he notices her, frowning when he realizes she’s waiting for him.

“We haven’t met yet. I’m Wanda.”

“I’m Michael,” he says cautiously.

“I wondered if you would like to walk in the garden with me today. The weather is nice,” says Wanda, because it’s the first thing she can think of.

“A-alright,” he says, visibly disturbed but unable to find a reason to deny the request.

“How are you settling in?” she asks as they exit the building and begin walking across the gravel lot towards the meticulously unplanned garden.

After the split with Pepper, Tony spent some time planting swaths of flowers and plants, no real plan in mind. There is hyacinth, lavender, snapdragons, goldenrod, asters, and large rose bushes that were transplanted from his mother’s garden. There are other plants she doesn’t recognize, but everything is bright and beautiful.

Tony would go out for hours and dig in the dirt haphazardly, placing things wherever he felt like it. As a result there is no real path though the garden, but Wanda likes it. It meanders madly, like Tony’s mind. Oddly, it makes meditation very easy. Wanda likes to spend the early morning in the garden, watching the bees and hummingbirds and other inhabitants that have found their way there.

“Mr. Stark gave me a room and Friday is teaching me to cook,” he answers her quietly.

“Have you met Natasha and Sam yet?” Wanda asks, sneaking a scarlet tendril out to touch a bee that is nestling into a purple flower that she doesn’t know the name of. She enjoys the hum of its heartbeat.

“I met the Black Widow already,” says Michael, darkly.

“You do not like her?”

“We parted on bad terms.” He is clearly unwilling to elaborate, so Wanda doesn’t ask.

“And what do you think of Sam?”

“Barnes liked Sam, but Sam doesn’t like me.”

“That is unfortunate. Sam is a good friend to have; he makes wonderful cinnamon rolls.”

Michael hums gently and they continue walking. Wanda can feel him panicking behind the door in his mind, afraid of the silence and her presence.

“I wanted to meet you,” says Wanda. “I’ve never met someone who held two people in the same body. Is it odd for you?”

Michael laughs shakily and runs a nervous hand through his hair. “A lot of people have been asking me that. I don’t know what to say.”

“I suppose a fish doesn’t when know it’s wet,” muses Wanda, and Michael nods. “You are afraid you won’t be able to wake Barnes,” she continues, twirling her fingers in the leaves of a long reedy plant.

“Yes.” He clenches his jaw and his metal arm whirrs a little, plates shifting with his anxiety.

“Are you afraid of what will happen when he wakes up? Is it like dying for you, when you are no longer in control?”

“No. It’s like sleep, maybe. I would like to sleep again, I’m very confused by everything,” he says with a frown. “I don’t like being confused.”

“Consequences,” says Wanda knowingly, smiling at his shocked expression. “I too was a guest of HYDRA. They are very consistent in their training methods, it seems,” she explains.

“Do you ever stop being afraid?” he asks.

“Mostly, yes. Sometimes I have nightmares, but I never lost everything the way you did. Once I gained my powers they couldn’t touch me if I didn’t want them to, and they couldn’t hurt my brother anymore.”

“You have a brother?”

“I used to. He is dead now,” she says, and she’s proud of the way her voice doesn’t shake.

“Did I kill him?” asks Michael, frowning as though he can summon up Pietro’s ghost if he can remember.

“No. He was killed by Ultron.”

“Oh,” says Michael with a small amount of relief. Wanda smiles at him.

“What will you do if you can’t wake Barnes?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Instead they sit together on a small patch of grass that lies under a copse of mimosa trees. She plucks the grass up in handfuls and drops it playfully on his knee to see how he will react. He frowns a little at the grass and looks up at her, squinting at her like she’s a puzzle.

“Why did you take me for a walk?’ he asks, suspiciously.

“Because Tony asked me to.” She shrugs a little, turning her attention upwards to the fuzzy pink blossoms.

“Tony?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter and staring at her intently. “Is he joining us?”

“No. He needs 48 hours to work on a project without interruptions. He doesn’t want you to feel lonely, though, so he asked me to spend some time with you. I think he is worried that you are sad.” The truth is easy to tell. Tony is such a coward sometimes.

“Friday says he is a good man,” says Michael a little wistfully. “She says he saves people and invents things that make their lives better.”

“Tony is good and bad, wise and stupid, funny and sad.” A ladybug lands on the back of her hand and she studies it while Michael shifts uncomfortably.

“Tony is bad?”

“Good and bad.”

“How can he be both?” Michael frowns in his detested confusion.

“Tony’s inventions have killed many people, while some have saved people. He has saved lives and he has taken lives, for good reasons and bad reasons. Friday is not wrong about Tony being a good person, but he is a bad person too. Essentially he is a person. Like you.” Wanda places the ladybug on Michael’s metal hand and he looks down at it, watching as it explores his fingers.

“It’s so small,” he says, entranced by its progress over the landscape of his hand. It climbs to the top of his index finger and then takes flight, winding its way further into the garden. He sighs gently and turns back to look at her. “I don’t know what I’ll do if Barnes doesn’t come back. I’m afraid that I’m only part of a person, that I don’t deserve to be alive, that I’ll never be a good man, that I’ll always be afraid of turning into a… a _thing_.”

Wanda nods and doesn’t answer immediately. They stand up and continue to walk in a slightly more comfortable silence. His confession seems to have calmed him slightly.

“The first step towards being a good person is wanting to be a good person,” she says once she has her thoughts in order. “And deserving to be alive… it is something that happens to you, not something that you earn. You cannot deserve the sun, or the ocean, or gravity. They are not given to you, they simply are.”

They stop and turn towards each other.

“As for someone gaining control of your mind again…” Wanda thinks for a moment. “I can try to help you strengthen your mind, if you would like. We can try to find ways to break or counteract the programming.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “I want that, please.”

They spend another hour in the garden, resting under shade trees and playing with insects they find. Michael is very amused by the snail they find crawling under a rose bush, and slightly terrified of the dragonflies that dart about the small pond in the middle of the garden. Eventually they grow overwarm in the gentle spring sunlight and decide to go back inside.

Natasha is waiting at the entrance, frowning at them with her arms crossed. Michael sucks in a breath when he sees her but says nothing, merely nodding at her stiffly in greeting. She returns his nod, expression stony. He turns to Wanda and waves at her before disappearing inside.

Wanda anticipates the lecture that Natasha wants to give her, preparing her defense and resenting the seemingly universal assumption that she isn’t strong enough to take care of herself, but Natasha shrugs a little as though rolling a weight off her shoulders and smiles instead.

“Girls night tonight?” she asks, poking Wanda in the shoulder gently.

“Only if we don’t watch romantic comedies again,” bargains Wanda. “Horror films or I walk.”

“I can dig it,” says Natasha. “But I want campy horror, not the shock value crap. I’m talking _The Return of the Living Dead_ , _Bubba Ho-Tep--_ ”

“ _Hausu_?” suggests Wanda hopefully.

“ _Yes._ Popcorn, Milkduds, and something alcoholic.”

“Oooh and pizza maybe, too.”

“If we get pizza the boys are going to intrude.”

“I am very powerful,” Wanda points out. “I can keep everyone out.”

Their enthusiastic planning is interrupted by the arrival of an ancient Fed-ex deliveryman.

“Delivery for Tony _Stank_?” he rasps out, proffering a small package.

Natasha and Wanda turn to each other in mutual glee.

“Yes,” says Natasha, her smile making her voice warm like a spring day. “I’ll sign for it.”

~*~

The next morning Sam and Natasha wait next to the landing strip to greet Steve. ETA is ten minutes.

After the JCTC debriefing, they expected to find Steve back at the Avengers Compound, 50/50 on whether he would be contrite or confrontational; but they expected him to be there all the same. Instead they found his room untouched, no messages left with Friday, nothing at all to indicate he intended to return. A week later they adopted a confused assassin that they’ve been babysitting ever since.

Then yesterday they received a package from Steve containing a letter and a phone for Tony.

“How mad are you, on a scale from one to ten?” Sam asks quietly.

“Think I’m hovering at a twelve,” she answers.

“Mm, same.”

She’s been angry at Steve before, of course. They’ve all been angry at each other—differences of opinion, miscommunication, the day to day frustration that builds up when you live around other strong personalities. They all deal with anger differently.

Sam goes quiet and thoughtful when he’s really mad, just like Natasha. They feel their anger before they decide how to act. Vison and Wanda only get mad at each other, and very rarely at that. When Tony gets angry he tends to have amazing mood swings, yelling one moment and trying to make up in the next breath. He hates being angry, hates it when other people are angry; he looks like a small child, eyes gone wide and scared, and Natasha wonders what Howard was like. Was he like Steve? Because Steve yells and sulks, using guilt and pointed comments like he uses his shield. It’s terrible when Steve gets mad.

 “When he runs away from home he does it in style. You have to give him that,” says Sam. “I ran away from home when I was twelve and I camped out in my front yard behind the bushes. He makes it all the way to fucking no-fly-zone, tighter-borders-than-North-Korea _Wakanda_ to pout.”

“He’s the ultimate showman,” says Natasha drily.

“I’d punch him in the face but I’d probably break my hand.” Sam sighs a little and gazes at his fist.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him for this one,” admits Natasha. “He’s always been judgmental and dramatic and…” Natasha struggles to pinpoint the word.

“Bitchy?” suggests Sam.

“Yeah, bitchy. But this was different. He was cruel and _hateful_.”

“He reminds me of my grandpa,” says Sam, squinting up at the sky in thought. “Papa loved the family, did everything he could to do right by us, but when it came to anger… Men in that generation weren’t taught how to deal with feelings very well. Your options were to blow up or keep it inside and let it fester. Steve didn’t grow up learning how to talk, and hell, even these days men don’t get a lot of encouragement to work on finding ways to express emotion in a healthy way. He’s come a long way, but…” Sam shrugs. “I approached him once about getting some one on one help, or going to group with other vets to learn how to talk about stuff, and I think that scared him as much as it offended him.”

“He opened up to me about Peggy, though. I don’t know if I buy any of that stuff about him not knowing how to talk about feelings.”

“Yeah, but grief is different. Grief about an old flame is miles away from feeling anger over what happened to Bucky. He’s good at expressing love, sorrow, joy, all of that, but anger… anger is mostly about feeling powerless, and to his generation a _real_ man is never powerless.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“No, it isn’t.”

They fall silent as the Wakandan Stealth Fighter lands and taxis towards them. Steve and King T’challa exit the plane and walk quickly across the tarmac. T’challa is graceful like a dancer when he walks, while Steve is tense and jerky. It is an interesting contrast and Natasha focuses on that instead of her anger. It won’t help to start a fight right now.

“Hi,” says Steve awkwardly, stopping in front of them.  A few moments pass in silence as they all assess each other. He jumps a little when T’challa clears his throat. “Sorry, this is T’challa, King of Wakanda.”

They bow a little in greeting as Steve introduces them.

“We’ll talk later,” says Natasha, staring at Steve. He winces a little. “For now, please follow me. We have everyone waiting in the common room.”

“Bucky?” asks Steve a little breathlessly.

“Sort of,” says Sam.

“Tony said the same thing,” says Steve, clearly worried. "What does that mean?”

“Whatever Zemo did when he activated the Soldier, uh, stuck. He's not Bucky right now, he’s the Winter Soldier. We’re calling him Michael now, for some reason,” says Sam, rolling his eyes. “He's nice enough but I can’t really stand the dude, so I haven’t been hanging around much.”

Steve pushes past them and runs forward to the common room, turning the corner. Natasha holds her breath and waits.                                                                                                                                                                   

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, and the soldier lifts his head, gazing at Steve intently.

The whole team is there, Wanda and Tony sitting together on a small couch, Vision at the table with Rhodey. Even Scott is there for some reason, hovering awkwardly in the kitchen. Natasha isn’t sure when or why he started coming around, but he and Sam seem to have an antagonistic friendship that works for them. Peter is in school, otherwise she’s sure he’d be there too, antagonizing Tony and Rhodey with his youth. They’re all here for the miraculous reunion, to support Steve even if there are still wounds yet to be healed.

“Steve,” says the soldier after a few moments, standing up and walking forward.

“Do… do you know me?” Steve asks, reaching a hand out, his face full of hope.

The soldier’s impassive façade breaks and a look of agony crosses his face.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t.”


	12. Studied his Agrippa

Bucky had one real weakness which was his fear of heights, so Steve, who had many weaknesses and was a consummate “troll” before the term even existed, took every opportunity to poke the bear. Mainly his antagonism took the form of dangling from whatever height he could scramble to, laughing as Bucky suffered second-hand vertigo. 

“Steve, get down,” Bucky would groan, looking at Steve through his fingers. “You’re gonna get hurt!”

“It’s sooo high up,” Steve would crow, pretending to lose his balance.

“Get down here so I can box your ears, punk!”

Weirdly, Bucky’s fear of heights didn’t carry over to roller coasters, while Steve’s comfort with heights disappeared as soon as he was strapped into the car. It didn’t make sense but it didn’t matter; it was just another one of their running things—Steve would terrorize Bucky by climbing up to every height he could reach, and Bucky would retaliate by daring Steve to ride the Cyclone (which was as good as binding his hands and forcing him onto the rollercoaster, because Steve could never back down from a dare if it was Bucky daring him).

Their friendship had a rhythm, a heartbeat that kept them both going. Steve would throw down a challenge, and Bucky would meet it and throw down a challenge of his own; they played a game of constant escalation that usually ended with a shouting match and a friendly fist fight. Then they’d make up and the whole thing would start again. Each was the center of the other’s universe and neither of them could ever imagine or want anything different.

And then the train.

Steve frequently has nightmares about watching Bucky fall; all he can do is watch Bucky’s face over and over again. He’ll wake up still feeling the horrific vertigo he felt as he watched his _everything_ fall forever into an abyss.

He feels that vertigo now as he realizes Bucky is gone, again. Instead there is a stranger in his friend’s skin, placed there by other cruel and indifferent strangers. He can see it easily now that he looks for it; Michael and Bucky have the same face, but where Bucky’s eyes carry laughter even after all the pain, Michael’s eyes are dull, the expressions on his face alien.

Rage fills his lungs like water, making it hard to breathe, making him feel powerless after all these years despite the serum, once again a skinny _nothing_ with no control over the world. All he wants to do is run away, or find something to hit and break into pieces that are as small as he feels, but he sets aside his anger for once. He focuses on the shell that used to be his friend and he tries to remember--

_This isn’t about me._

He extends a hand towards Michael, trying to summon a genuine smile. He knows he falls short, but he hopes the effort is enough. “I’m Steve. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michael.”

Michael laughs hollowly, hopelessly. “I’m not Michael. I’m not _anything_.”

“That’s not true,” says Steve quietly. It sets Michael off immediately.

“Don’t you get it? I’m not your friend! I killed him, like I kill _everything_ ,” Michael screams.

“You didn’t kill _me_ back on the helicarrier; Bucky said he didn’t wake up until he was in the water.”

“It doesn’t matter,” moans Michael, holding his head in his hands. “You were my last chance to get Bucky back and it didn’t work. I’m stuck here,” he says. He sinks to the floor, shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

Steve sinks to the floor too, placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael looks up in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

“You’re upset. I’m trying to comfort you,” explains Steve.

“I’m not your friend,” hisses Michael, shaking Steve’s hand off.

“No,” acknowledges Steve, lip trembling despite his best effort to keep a cheerful expression on his face. “But maybe you could be?”

Wanda comes over and places a hand on Michael’s shoulder instead. “This is a set-back, but this isn’t the end of the fight. We’re going to keep trying.”

“I can’t anymore,” says Michael. “I’m so tired…”

“Then sleep.” She helps Michael stand and leads him out of the room. He doesn’t look back at Steve, who stands up and takes an unconscious step after Michael.

He knows it isn’t Bucky, but it still hurts to be ignored and left behind. It hurts so much.

“Steve,” says Natasha, who hurries over and wraps her arms around him. Steve collapses on her, grief stricken.

“I thought it was over, I thought that I could finally come home from the war,” he says, voice broken by sobs.

Natasha is pulled away and someone else is wrapping their arms around him, placing a warm, calloused hand on the back of his neck and rocking him a little. “Let it all out,” says Tony, whose voice is also rough with emotion. “You just let it all out.”

Steve sobs harder. “I’m so sorry Tony, I’m _sorry_.”

“I know.”

“You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known, you have to believe me--”

“I know.”

“I’m an idiot, I’m such an idiot--”

“Yeah, but you’re my idiot, so stop apologizing and just let me hold you.”

Tony walks them over to a couch and sits with Steve pressed firmly against his side, arm tight around his shoulders. Sam sits on his other side wrapping his arm around Steve’s lower back, and Natasha crawls into Steve’s lap, arms around his neck.

It takes him a long time to calm down, but they stay with him until he is able to master himself. Everyone else filtered out at some point, leaving the four of them alone. He’s immediately embarrassed when the worst is over, of course, and he apologizes as he hiccups.

“Oh shut up,” says Sam.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Steve says, looking at Sam and Natasha so they know he is apologizing to them too.

Sam winces. “I’m struggling to stay mad at you, because you are karma’s bitch today. I can’t really bring myself to hold onto a grudge.”

“I can,” says Natasha, glaring at Steve even as she gently pets his hand.

“I’m trying to change,” says Steve, tilting his head back and staring at the light fixture. “It’s painful, but I’m finally ready to admit that I need help.”

“Damn it Steve, if you cave and get therapy they’re gonna start pressuring me to get therapy again, too,” teases Tony.

Sam reaches around Steve and slaps Tony on the back of the head. “Shut up, man!”

“We never stopped pressuring you to get therapy,” says Natasha.

Steve chuckles a little and closes his eyes. “It’s so damned embarrassing,” he whispers. “I should be able to control myself without help. I hate being _weak_.”

“Getting help with your mental health is like going to the gym, but for your brain,” says Sam. “You spend hours hitting a bag, but you don’t do anything for yourself up here,” he taps Steve on the head. “Therapy isn’t gonna make you weak; it’s what’s going to make you strong.”

When Sam puts it like that it makes it a little easier to think about, but it’s still an appalling thought. Tony is clearly uncomfortable with the subject too, because he changes it quickly.

“We got your shield for you,” says Tony. “It’s yours whenever you want it back.”

Steve has had a month to think about what it would be like to stop being Captain America. His answer is immediate.

“I’m not going to take the shield back. I’m not coming back to the team,” he says. The announcement is met with a shocked silence, which doesn’t last long because Tony is Tony.

“But we’re all good again, right? Why wouldn’t… why wouldn’t you come back?”

“ _I’m_ not good.”

“If this is guilt, or whatever, it’s really not necessary.” Tony squeezes Steve’s shoulders. “We need you, Steve. We need Captain America.”

“It’s not guilt. I mean, I have plenty of guilt, I’m _catholic_ , but that’s not why I’m not picking up the shield again.”

“Why?” asks Natasha, frowning at him in confusion.

Steve sighs a little, trying to put his thoughts together into something coherent. “It’s complicated. I… I attacked Tony based on _hearsay_. I didn’t think about any alternative—like you said, Nat, maybe Tony didn’t know he was paying HYDRA; or maybe those documents were _falsified._ I blindly believed a terrorist, just because he mentioned Bucky and handed me a convenient story that I could pin my anger on.”

“So you were compromised. You’ll get therapy, get stronger, and move on from it. I get not picking the shield up again for a while, but… forever?” asks Tony.

“That’s the other part of it,” says Steve, turning to look at Tony. “I’m just… I’m sick of fighting.”

“No you’re not,” taunts Tony, trying to tempt Steve into a fight to prove a point. Steve just smiles sadly and looks back up at the ceiling.

“I’ve had a month to imagine a future without Captain America in my life, and it’s the closest I’ve come to feeling peace in a long time.”

“We need you,” says Natasha, echoing Tony.

“You need Captain America,” clarifies Steve. “You need a leader, someone who can see the fight clearly and make the tough calls.”

“You _are_ Captain America,” Sam points out with confusion.

“No. I’m _Steve,_ okay? I’m _not_ Captain America. Captain America is a shield, a costume, and a story. Anyone can be Captain America.” Steve turns now to look at Sam directly. “ _You_ can be Captain America.”

“No I can’t,” Sam says immediately. “America was barely ready for Obama. You think they’re gonna let a brother carry the shield?”

“ _Fuck_ America,” says Steve, and the other three gasp in horrified unison. It’s ridiculous and Steve starts laughing, a real belly laugh that feels good after his sorrow.

“Do you know how many angels you just killed?” Tony asks, scandalized tone only slightly exaggerated.

“Fuck God, too.”

“Shit, you are off the deep end,” says Sam.

“No, I’m just very tired.”

“Take some time, obviously, but don’t say no yet,” bargains Tony.

Steve sighs a little. “My mind is made up, Tony. _You_ guys ‘take some time’ to get used to it.”

“You’re such a stubborn--”

“Yeah, I am, which is why this discussion is pointless. I’m retiring and Sam is going to take over as Captain America.”

“I did not agree to that,” says Sam quickly, looking around as though there is a reporter waiting to splash it on the front page and land him in deep shit. “I totally didn’t agree to that.”

“Your ass would look amazing in the uniform,” says Natasha, considering. Sam chokes a little, but recovers.

“You’re just trying to get rid of Red Wing.”

“That too.”

“I’m not ready for this,” says Tony, clutching at his chest. “If you’re not Captain America, it’s my fault, and the ghost of my father is going to come rocketing back up from the grave to yell at me and steal all my whiskey.”

“Everyone always says I’m the most dramatic, but the rest of you--”

“We don’t even come close and you know it.”

“What will you do if you aren’t out there being Captain America?” asks Sam with considerable concern.

Steve has had some time to think about that too.

“I don’t know. Start a career as an artist like I always wanted to. Write a book. Travel maybe. Buy a boat, get sick of the boat, sell the boat, never look at the ocean again. Just… live.”

They fall silent and Steve knows they finally believe him.

“Wow,” says Sam after a few minutes of heavy silence. “I’m gonna be Captain America.”

~*~

Michael wants the world to stop turning. There is no hope left, so why does the sun still rise?

Wanda allows him to wallow for a day and then she returns, full of a determination that irritates him.

“What is the point?” he asks, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Get out of bed,” she orders him directly.

There was a time when complying with a direct order was his only purpose in life. Now? He extends the middle finger of his left hand and displays it proudly above the covers.

There is a long silence that fools him into thinking he has won the argument, and then Wanda throws herself on top of him. She may be short but she is heavy and her knee hits near enough his groin that he curls inwards, pulling in a shocked breath.

“Get out of bed,” she says again, and he rushes to comply before she gets inventive.

He is dressed and showered twenty minutes later, following her into the garden.

“What are we doing?” he asks, feeling surly.

“We begin training today,” she says. “I will teach you to strengthen your defenses and possibly break the programming.”

He snorts derisively but follows her to the copse of mimosa trees.

“What’s the point of strengthening my defenses against the programming? I _am_ the programming. If someone says the words I’ll just be me.”

“Let us see if that is true,” says Wanda, then without warning she recites the ten words.

_Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car._

He fades into the background and something else takes his place, something that he was unaware of until this moment, something that is neither him nor Bucky. It is nothing, an absence of everything, a vacuum. This should be impossible, but he is outside himself panicking and unable to control his body. Wanda stares at him with curiosity. When he is like this she could make him do anything. He is terrified.

“Soldat?” she prompts.

“ _Ready to comply_ ,” the body grits out in guttural Russian.

“Bring back Bucky,” she orders.

“ _Unable to comply.”_

“Then bring back Michael. You are not needed presently,” she says, waving a hand imperiously.

It feels like thawing, the control returning to his body slowly like tingling nerve endings returning feeling to frozen limbs, and then he is back in his body, blinking rapidly.

“How dare you,” he asks, rage making his voice shake. Wanda is unaffected, almost looking bored.

“I proved a point and tested another possibility for bringing back Barnes.”

He’s still offended. “You gave me no warning!”

“I will give you a warning the next time I do it,” she concedes.

“We’re not doing that again,” he objects.

“We _must_ ,” she says, voice firm. “It is unpleasant, but you must learn to fight or you will always be vulnerable.”

“How do I fight? I’m powerless as soon as you say the first word!”

“You cannot plug your ears?”

“Limb paralysis.”

“Panic,” she corrects. “Your panic prevents you from thinking. The word itself holds no power. In fact I could say _longing_ all day and it would do nothing to you.” She demonstrates this, saying _longing_ over and over until Michael claps his hands over his ears in aggravation. “There!” she says proudly. “You covered your ears!”

“I could still hear you though. That won’t keep me safe from anything.”

“No, but you moved. You _fought_. That is the first step. I will now say the whole thing again, okay?”

She waits for him to nod before she does it again. He doesn’t have time to panic before she submerges him, rips him from his body. The second time is no different than the first; he’s still powerless until she orders the emptiness away, allowing him to resurface desperately. This continues for the rest of the afternoon.

He doesn’t get better at fighting it off, but it becomes less terrifying as he begins to trust that Wanda will not take advantage of him.

“I can’t, anymore,” he says, feeling exhausted and out of breath, despite remaining mainly stationary for hours.

“Alright,” she says, helping him stand up. “This was a good first session. I’m optimistic about your chances of breaking the programming.”

“Why?” he asks incredulously. “I’m just as powerless now as I was when we started this!”

Wanda merely smirks at him mysteriously and walks him back to the compound.

“What are you going to do about Steve?” she asks, poking him in the side. He is not disposed to feeling pleasant towards her at the moment, but he holds back on snapping at her. Or snapping her finger off.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s going to try to be your friend. Are you going to let him?”

“I’m not Bucky,” he says with irritation.

“He doesn’t think you are.”

“Then why would he want to be my friend?”

“Because he is Steve. He secretly wants to be friends with everyone, especially if they are sad and broken.”

He immediately wants to protest that he is neither sad nor broken, but it would be absurd. “I don’t need his pity.”

“Maybe _he_ needs _your_ pity, Michael.”

He turns to look at her as she turns to him with a sad smile.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know.”

He thought maybe he would have some time to think about it, but as soon as he sits down on his bed Steve knocks on his doorway and hovers there until Michael acknowledges him.

“I thought maybe you would be hungry,” Steve says, wielding a plate that is topped with a sandwich and kettle chips. “Training days with Wanda are always the hardest. She’s even tougher on us than Natasha.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says as his stomach rumbles. Steve arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine, give me that.”

“Eat it with me in the kitchen,” says Steve.

“Why did you bring it all the way to my room if you weren’t going to leave it here?”

Steve is already halfway down the hall, so Michael chases after him and they walk to the kitchen together. He sits down at the table resentfully and eats with Steve, who doesn’t try to talk with him, seemingly content to sit with him in silence.

Michael doesn’t know Steve, doesn’t feel anything for Steve, not even a vestigial glimmer of affection. In fact he finds the man irritating. He knows some things about Steve of course, knows what Bucky thought about the man that is sitting across from him, the feelings that Barnes hid from everyone. But it’s only second hand stories from someone who is essentially his annoying roommate.

This is what Michael knows about Steve first hand—he chews loudly, he slurps when he drinks, and he has a cowlick right now that is beyond absurd. It bounces a little whenever Steve takes a large bite of his sandwich. It’s like torture and finally Michael can’t take it anymore.

“Your hair is stupid,” he blurts out, wetting his hand on the condensation of his glass, and reaching over to pat that fucking cow lick down into place so it will stop bouncing. Steve freezes, eyes wide, letting Michael fix the hair into place.

“Thanks?” says Steve cautiously when Michael is finished.

“Your cowlick was putting me off my lunch,” explains Michael. “And learn to chew quieter. I could shoot you a mile away without a visual just by tracking the sound of your jaw clicking.”

He doesn’t care if he’s rude. Steve was supposed to fix everything for him, all he had to do was walk into the room and be _Steve_ , and he couldn’t even do that. Michael is getting excited about disliking Steve, enjoying having something to focus his resentment on.

But then Steve ruins it.

“Be my friend,” he says, grinning at Michael like an idiot.

“What?”

“Be my friend so that I can feed you without being insulted.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say, he can only stare at Steve in bewilderment. It only makes Steve smile harder.

“You’re crazy,” he says, finally.

“You have no idea,” Steve says before taking another large bite of his sandwich, opening his mouth as he chews, making disgusting noises while staring at Michael pointedly.

He’s going to be a problem.

The next morning Steve arrives at his room before the sun has come up.

“Come running with me,” he says cheerfully.

“I hate you,” says Michael, covering his head with the pillow. He’s proud of himself for every direct order that he disobeys, digging his heels in like he was born to it, but Steve… Steve grabs him by the ankles and drags him out of the bed.

“Come on, you’ll enjoy it!” Steve says cheerfully.

“I’ll kill you,” hisses Michael from the floor. Who does this man think he is? “I’m not Bucky, I can do it without blinking.”

“One time Bucky pushed me off a bridge and I almost drowned. Got pneumonia and spent a month in the hospital. _You_ only put me in the hospital for a week. Bucky got much closer to killing me than you ever did, pal. Now, get your ass up and come running with me.”

In the end it’s easier to comply with Steve.

Steve who takes him shopping for clothing that actually suits him—

“I don’t know why Tony thinks band-Ts are acceptable outside of pajama situations. You need something that doesn’t make you look like a stoner.” Secretly Michael agrees, but he spends the whole time scowling at Steve, who takes it in stride.

Steve who introduces him to movies—

“Now, Tony will have you believe that cinema begins and ends with _Star Wars._ The man is a fool and isn’t to be trusted. I’m telling you that Hayao Miyazaki is the greatest director of all time.” They watch _Princess Mononoke_ together and Michael cries at the end of the film. He isn’t sure why. Steve cries a little too, so it’s probably okay. They watch the rest of the Ghibli films and Michael feels heavy inside, but in a good way.

Steve who is always there after Wanda’s training leaves Michael feeling exhausted and exposed—

“Come on, let me show you how to make paninis. I just got a sandwich press and I’ve been dying to use it.” Steve makes acceptable sandwiches and Michael eats them without too much complaint, and if Steve always manages to get the perfect ratio of sandwich filling to bread Michael will never say it out loud.

“I’m not Bucky,” he protests frequently, whenever he thinks that Steve is being blinded by nostalgia.

“I’ll say,” says Steve. “Bucky’d have better taste in music. I don’t know how you listen to that heavy metal crap.”

Or he says “I’ll say, Bucky knows how to shave his face. You look like a bear that learned how to put pants on.”

Or he says “I’ll say, Bucky knows how to take a joke.”

Eventually Michael stops reminding Steve, because it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

The training with Wanda is picking up now. They’ve figured out what each of the trigger words is related to and she’s having him come up with counter words that neutralize the effect. It’s weird that the programming works on him at all, because it was designed to erase _Barnes_.

“What does it mean?” Michael asks. “Why does it work on _me_? I’m supposed to be what’s left when _Barnes_ is erased.”

Wanda shrugs a little. “What do you think it means?”

“Don’t be cryptic, just tell me what you think.”

“Hm… you share the same brain. Perhaps the words are more important that I first thought,” she admits. “It’s possible that they have trained parts of the brain to shut down entirely when you hear the sequence. It suggests that your programming isn’t merely about removing Barnes’ memories. It’s more like…”

“Like what?”

“We should consider getting fMRI scans done while we do this. But for now, prepare yourself. I’m going to start again.”

He fights against the sequence.

The first word is the easiest to defeat. _Longing_ hits him in the chest, fills him with a grief that paralyzes him. It is formless, unattached to anything, but he feels it nonetheless. Wanda has him try to think past the grief, find something that soothes the ache that robs him of his agency. The only word that works is _Steve._ It’s hard to feel grief when you feel overwhelming irritation (and maybe a grudging affection) instead. He focuses on the early morning runs that Steve forces him on, the way that Steve crunches ice, the cow lick that reappears whenever Steve works out. _Steve_ reminds him that grief is transitory.

 _Rusted_ grips him around his neck, choking him with fear that leaves him wide eyed and panting. He fights through the fear, tries to find something that balances it. He thinks of Wanda, the calm she brings even as she throws him into the hurricane. Red rust, red magic; _Wanda_ reminds him that there is an eye in the storm.

 _Seventeen_ whispers in his ear lovingly, like an old friend he can’t remember. It speaks to him of loyalty and obedience. He remembers his world and how simple it was to take orders. No confusion. He has to fight to remember the simple joy of a well-timed “fuck you,” of a middle finger aimed skywards, an exuberant and irrational refusal to cooperate. He can only think of Tony, Tony who gave him a home despite everything that lies between them. Tony who says “fuck you” to his own hatred and pain, and instead chooses to feed and clothe an enemy. _Tony_ reminds him that nothing can own him.

 _Daybreak_ fills him with a disgust that is bone deep, directed both inwards and outwards. Everything should burn, everything is wrong and unworthy.  What is the point of saving anyone? Why should he save himself? But then he thinks of Vision, such a strange being, seemingly perfect; all powerful, nearly omniscient, and so clearly in love with humanity. Studying their faults and their graces, and finding meaning in both. _Vision_ reminds him that nothing is beyond consideration.

 _Furnace_ sets the inside of his head on fire. He wants to kill, he wants to be aimed like a weapon at whatever enemy crosses his path first. He remembers Natasha, the ways they broke each other, the hatred that bristles between them. But then he also remembers that, despite their enmity, they share meals together. They do not speak, but they keep the peace, they respect each other as adversaries. _Natasha_ reminds him that his rage can be controlled.

 _Nine_ sucks the hope out of him, draining whatever will he has to resist. It feels like being frozen, the ice claiming his breath, stopping his mind. All is darkness, no light. But then he remembers sitting next to Zemo at the campfire, the gentle assurance that he is a person, the chance that is offered up to him to choose something for himself. _Zemo_ reminds him that there is always a gentle light waiting for him if he can hold on long enough.

 _Benign_ hurts. It just hurts, drowning out everything else, like nails on a chalk board, a drill in the root of a tooth, a shard of glass under a nail. It hurts so much that he grows numb to his own pain, a dull horror overtakes him as he realizes that the suffering will not end because the suffering does not matter. But then he remembers Sam, who helped him despite not liking him. Sam who was determined to find a therapist to help with the after effects of long term trauma. Even when he was too unwell to care about himself, Sam cared. _Sam_ reminds him that his pain matters.

 _Homecoming_ is the loneliness that comes from being kept in a box like a toy, only taken out when he is remembered. He is never spoken to. He isn’t even named. All alone, forever. Until a voice tells him he is a miracle, and names him such. The voice sings to him when he has nightmares, gives him advice when he is indecisive, teaches him to be independent, clarifies the confusion that terrifies him. _Friday_ reminds him that he is not alone.

The progress comes to a complete halt when he hits _One_. _One_ is powerlessness and he cannot summon up anything that neutralizes that feeling. There is no comforting memory that he can turn to, no beacon that can guide his way.

“I can’t!” he yells at Wanda. “I’m trying but I can’t do it!”

“Try harder,” she says calmly.

“I’m done for today,” he says, completely drained. “I can’t do it. I will try to work on it, but… no more today.”

Wanda nods and pats him on the shoulder. “You have done amazing work, Michael. Be proud of yourself.”

It’s hard not to feel discouraged and angry. He stalks back to the compound, Wanda waiting behind as she senses that he wants to be alone. She is always considerate.

Steve is less considerate.

“Not today,” he tries as Steve comes to his room with a plate of food. It’s a routine they have, bringing the comfort that routines usually bring. Steve frowns a little, placing the plate on the bedside table and sitting down next to where Michael is laying on the bed.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, just sits there in a comfortable silence as Michael squirms and tries to stop himself from punching Steve in the head. Steve’s like a giant dog that doesn’t know when to stop, always placing its head in your lap asking for more attention, like it forgot you’ve been petting it for an hour. Steve is never satisfied.

“I hit a wall,” Michael says finally, in the interest of speeding this up.

“What was it?” asks Steve, laying back on the bed so that he’s next to Michael. They stare up at the ceiling together.

“One of the words. Makes me feel powerless, but I can’t come up with anything to counteract it.”

Steve nods. “I have problems with feeling powerless too. It’s one of the things my doctor is trying to help me work on, but I’m in the same boat. I don’t know how to… how to get myself out of that feeling.”

“You?” snorts Michael. “Mr. Super Soldier?”

“I’ve been powerless most of my life. The only thing that ever really made me feel powerful was…” Steve stops himself, biting his lip and sitting up. Michael sits up too.

“What was it?”

Steve smiles sadly. “Bucky made me feel pretty powerful, you know? He made me do things that I thought would be impossible for me. He made me forget my fear long enough to get past myself. I felt tall when I was standing next to him, like I was someone important just because he chose me.”

“You loved him,” realizes Michael. Steve stands up quickly and picks up the plate, walking to the door. “You did, didn’t you?”

Steve stops and turns back, looking at Michael with pain in his eyes.

“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved Bucky.”

It’s not his confession to make, but Michael wishes he could give Steve the assurance that Bucky loved him back, in the same way, for the same reasons. Instead he stays silent and lets Steve walk away to grieve in private.

Why does it hurt so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone realizes but I post as I write stuff. I don't have a buffer chapter waiting in the wings or anything. I vomit everything out, try to get grammar and spelling approximately up to snuff, and then I post. That means that this week I have written 9660 words. First chapter of this story was written and posted 5/19/16, which means I have written more than 57,000 words in a little over a month. That's a god damn novel.
> 
> This is all building up to say that I have a week off of work and I'm gearing up to end this story by next Saturday. Thank you to anyone who has given me a kudos, left a comment, or bookmarked this story. It has been astonishingly motivating.


	13. Brute Squad

“May, I’m heading out!” shouts Peter, gathering his backpack and skateboard. He’s trying to remember if he has enough for the subway when May pokes her head around the corner.

“You have enough for the subway?” she asks, shaking the coffee jar that holds their collective savings.

“Yeah, yes. Totally.” Peter decides that if he doesn’t have enough, he can suit up and web his way to Stark Tower. He’s not taking May’s money—she’s been trying to save up enough to buy a new interview suit and he isn’t going to get in her way. Anyway, if he suits up he can take a quick video for Youtube, make a couple bucks from the views.

“Okay,” May says suspiciously, a little frown that means she knows he’s worrying about the money again. But the frown passes and her sunny smile returns. “I’m so proud of you,” she coos, reaching forward to pinch his cheek a little.

The stereotype about aunts and pinching cheeks is true, but Peter can never bring himself to resent May for it. It makes him feel loved, even if it’s annoying.

“Quit it,” he says, but he’s grinning despite himself.

“So proud,” she repeats. “You’re gonna make the world an amazing place, I just know it.”

He bypasses the broken elevator and skips down the six flights of stairs to the front entrance, checks for mail, and then pushes out onto the street, slipping ear buds in and humming along.

_I want to share your mouthful; I want to do all the things your lungs do so well. I’m gonna to bed into you like a cat beds into a bean bag, turn you inside out and lick you like a crisp packet…_

Turns out he doesn’t have enough for the fare, so he ducks into an alleyway behind a dumpster and takes his outer wear off. He’s basically always wearing the suit these days, because he knows it must be worth more than, well, it’s just worth a lot. If he ever lost it, or if someone stole it… he shudders internally.

Money always makes him anxious, a side effect of growing up knowing that there is only one paycheck keeping him and May off the streets. When there is too much money, it invites broken plumbing or medical bills that eat up the surplus. When there is too little money, it means beans for dinner and skipping breakfast. Money never means anything good, which is why his time at Stark Tower is so nerve wracking.

Mr. Stark is rich in the kind of way that means he’s never been poor and will never be poor, even if he lived for another two hundred years, even if he never worked another day in his life. He does work though, very hard, so Peter likes him. But he feels like he owes Mr. Stark and that always sets him on edge. He’s jumpy at the best of times, but Mr. Stark puts him on another level. It doesn’t help that the man is really, really entertained by Peter when he gets flustered.

Peter webs his way up the tower and enters the top suite.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker,” greets Friday, who is an honest-to-goodness A.I. Peter is a little in love with her.

“H-hi, Friday!” he takes the mask off and runs a hand through his hair, trying to make himself presentable. He slips back into his clothing, pulling his shirt over his head just as the elevator doors open.

“Oh my god it’s a spider!” shouts Mr. Stark, exiting the elevator. “Kill it!”

“Funny, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, rolling his eyes. Every time. _Every time._

“It’s Tony. God, you make me sound like someone’s dad,” groans Tony, walking to the bar and pouring amber liquid into a crystal glass. “You want one?”

“I’d have to be twenty one first,” says Peter. Mr. Stark blinks at him, taken aback.

“I forgot that people care about law things. When I was your age I was eating my Wheaties with tequila… what is your age again?”

“I’m nearly eighteen, and I prefer milk on my cereal, thank you.”

“You are such a goodie-two-shoes.”

“I’m not, really. I mean, I’m a vigilante,” Peter says, puffing out his chest and standing a little taller. He is sorta kinda a bad boy, if you squint. Mr. Stark isn’t buying it.

“You make Steve Rogers look like Goofus, Gallant,” quips Mr. Stark, shaking the glass at him a little in emphasis.

“Aw, come on…” says Peter, deflating a little.

“You liking the suit still? It’s workin’ for you?”

“Oh, yes!” Peter says quickly. “I really like it. The fibers you used are really good at stopping bullets, I haven’t had a close call in weeks,” he says. Mr. Stark’s eyes widen, so Peter continues quickly. “I mean, I only get shot at a little bit. Sometimes. I’m good at sensing the bullets and I can move quickly, but sometimes they get closer than I want. Mostly people just try to stab me, but the suit has helped with that too.” Tony looks like he’s going to be ill, but Peter doesn’t know when to shut up. “I rarely have to worry about stab wounds though. I always heal really quickly anyway!”

“Stop, kid,” says Tony weakly. “I know you have a thing about money, and you won’t let me give you any, but if you get injured please call me. I can take you to the medical wing--” he holds up a hand as Peter tries to protest. “It’s a condition of me letting you keep the suit, kid. You want that suit, you get medical care for injuries that you get while wearing it.”

“Fine…” says Peter, hanging his head and frowning at the floor.

“God, you’re the only one that makes me feel bad for doing the _right_ thing.”

“Sorry--”

“Shut up, kid, before I try to hug you. You need hugs, I can see it all the way from over here.”

“I get hugs!” says Peter hotly.

“Oh my god, this isn’t what I want to talk about. I called you here for a reason,” says Tony, downing the last of the amber liquid. “I want to talk to you about that lie we told your aunt. About the grant. I was thinking maybe it didn’t have to be a _lie_ anymore.”

“What?”

“I mean I want to give you money to work in my lab. I’ve been dreaming about the tensile strength of the fiber you created, on your own, with no money and borrowed lab equipment from your _high school_ ,” Mr. Stark says, as though he is personally offended. “I want to see what you make with money and a real lab.”

“I don’t know--”

“Come with me on the tour, at least.”

Peter can’t say no, he’s dreamed about seeing Stark Labs since Mr. Stark revealed he was Iron Man.

It’s like that scene in Willy Wonka when they walk into the factory for the first time and see the candy meadow, except Mr. Stark is more flamboyant and the candy meadow is millions of dollars’ worth of very, very exciting machinery. Peter guesses the grumpy lab techs can stand in for the Oompah Loompahs, but they are decidedly paler. Peter is introduced to the lab manager, a man named Bitters (his name might not actually be Bitters, but Mr. Stark introduces him as Bitters).

Peter isn’t paying attention as Tony tells Bitters about the fiber he created. Bitters is asking Peter a question he’s only half listening to when Friday interrupts.

“Sir, code F at Avengers Compound.”

Tony grabs Peter by the arm, makes their excuses and steers Peter back into the elevator.

“What’s code F?” asks Peter, bewildered by the sudden change in Tony’s demeanor once they’re alone in the elevator.

“F for FUBAR,” grunts Tony, clicking a button on his watch. It unfolds into a holographic data screen and Peter whistles, impressed, but Tony isn’t paying attention.

“What’s FUBAR?” asks Peter, frowning.

“Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. It means we’re being attacked.”

“Oh,” says Peter, voice small. He doesn’t know the Avengers well, but he likes them. They seemed like nice people, mostly. Steve was kinda… not like Captain America _at all_. It sucked. But Black Widow was really nice, and Falcon signed his t-shirt.

“Shit, I can’t tell who it is,” Tony curses. “It’s not HYDRA or AIM. Someone new? I can’t get anyone on the line. Friday, any casualties?”

“None so far that I can detect, sir. There is a fight in the main room between Vision and ten enemy combatants. Steve and Wanda are fighting in the hall with another ten combatants, and Sam and Natasha are holed up in the gym, trying to break through whatever is being used to disable my security protocols.”

“Where is Michael?”

“I cannot detect him at this moment.”

“Double shit,” growls Tony. He steps into the Iron Man suit that is waiting for them once the elevator opens. “You coming kid?” he asks, stepping outside onto the overhang, powering up the suit and rising into the air.

“Oh, uh, okay,” says Peter, stepping out of his clothes again and putting the mask on. “Uh, do I just climb on your back?” he asks, pointing at Tony.

“What do you say to a free ride in my spare suit instead, Yoda?” asks Tony, as another suit marches up behind Peter.

“Oh. My. _God_.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

~*~

Steve was having a pretty good morning. It started the usual way, by bullying Michael into a run, followed by making breakfast for just the two of them. They sat outside with their food and watched the sky turn from pink to brightest blue. Then they parted ways, each tending to their own business.

Michael has his training with Wanda and Steve is starting to find a life. He’s planning a series of paintings based on important places and moments in his life, starting with the apartment he shared with Bucky. It’s an imprecise rendering that focuses more on the feeling than the details. It’s been so long since he’s seen their home, he lost most of the small things, but he remembers the light and the colors.

Michael never saw the original space, but he’s still taken with the painting.

“Bucky talked about it sometimes, when we were left alone,” he’d said the first time he saw it. “The light… he described the light to me. It’s weird how you both remember the light the most.”

It was a shoebox apartment in a terrible location, drafty in the winter and suffocating in the summer, but they had large windows. Even in the winter it never felt dark or gloomy. Everything seemed to glow in that room, acquiring a halo of warm light. Bucky always looked like he was sent from heaven, but never more so than when he was seated in that room, reading the paper or dozing lightly on the couch.

Steve paints for a few hours before he is interrupted by a knock at the door.

“You are doing well,” says T’challa, walking into the room, gazing at the painting with appreciation.

“Yeah, I’m having fun with it,” says Steve.

Steve didn’t expect T’challa to stay with them but he’s glad he did. He is an intelligent man, quiet where Steve is loud, gentle where Steve is harsh. He’s helping Steve to find a balance.

“The painting is beautiful, but I was talking about you,” T’challa says, smiling at Steve. “You are doing well.”

“Oh, uh,” Steve is a little flustered. Therapy is helping, but it’s embarrassing to talk about this stuff. “Thanks.”

“You are a strange man, my friend,” continues T’challa, looking back at the painting. “You encourage your friends to grow and heal, and yet you shy away from the same encouragement.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he changes the subject. “How are you liking the Avengers?”

“You’re all insane,” T’challa says immediately. Steve laughs, clapping T’challa on the shoulder affectionately. “But it is a family. Families are insane.”

“It is like a family,” Steve agrees. “I could do with less bickering, though.”

“No family is perfect.”

“Would you want to stay?” Steve asks curiously. T’challa looks uncomfortable suddenly, wincing a little.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know where I’d fit,” he admits. “I am enjoying myself though. I feel closer to my father here, for some reason. Maybe… maybe because he always wanted me to join the world. He cared about diplomacy, making connections.”

“Your father would be proud of you,” says Steve, no doubt in his mind. “We need help, always. You would be more than welcome.”

“You are trying to find a replacement,” says T’challa, smirking at Steve.

“Got Sam replacing me, but we need someone to replace Sam. Would you be interested in wearing a bird costume and hitting on Natasha obnoxiously when you think the comms are off?”

“I prefer cats to birds, and brunettes to red heads,” dismisses T’challa.

“Yeah, I prefer brunettes too.”

T’challa chuckles and gently prods Steve in the side. “And what about metal arms?”

Steve turns bright red and T’challa cackles.

“Does everyone know?” Steve asks miserably.

“You wear your heart openly, my friend.”

Steve nods, embarrassed but amused. “It’s not like that, really. I don’t feel that way about Michael. Just… sometimes I get confused. There are flashes, moments where I feel like I’m almost talking to Bucky again.”

“That is a difficult situation,” says T’challa, sobering up. He pats Steve on the shoulder. “But I feel that everything will work out as it should. Things can only get better from here.”

Which is, of course, when everything turns to shit. A tear gas grenade crashes through the window, and Steve and T’challa are taken by surprise, reacting too late to avoid lungfuls of the irritant. They choke and gag, scrambling backwards out of the room.

“Go find the others,” T’challa says, running towards his room. Steve bolts in the opposite direction, listening as more windows break, tear gas filling up the rooms. He finds Wanda first and she extends the protective field to include him. He takes a deep breath of clean air, willing his lungs to stop spasming.

“What is happening?” she asks, eyes wild with fear. Friday should have warned them as soon as uninvited personnel stepped foot on the grounds or entered their airspace. Her silence means this attack is well organized, targeted. Someone has gone to the trouble of gathering intel about their security and found a way to disable Friday.

“Don’t know. We need to move, make sure everyone is okay.”

They run into Nat and Sam, who both have protective gear on already, as they run past to find the nearest place they can jack into Friday’s systems.

“Find Michael,” barks Nat before Steve can say anything, and then they are gone.

Steve is immediately tense, wondering what Natasha knows that he doesn’t, but he is distracted by a cluster of black clad combatants running around the corner.

“Let’s take ‘em out,” grits Steve, and Wanda grins fiercely.

Wanda and Steve always work well together, and this time is no different. All seven guards are knocked unconscious in a few hits. “Not very well trained,” mutters Steve. “Who are these guys?”

“Doesn’t matter right now. We must find Michael,” Wanda says. They continue onward, checking Michael’s room, but he isn’t in there. They get to the main room just as Vision knocks out the last man standing.

“Have you seen Michael?” Wanda asks Vision.

“No. I am concerned by the lack of training these men have. I do not believe they are soldiers.”

“I got the same impression,” says Steve, wondering what it means. “How did they infiltrate us so easily when they’re so… incompetent?”

“A riddle for another time,” murmurs Vision. “We must find Michael.”

“Do you think they’re here for him?” asks Steve anxiously.

“Unclear, but they do not seem to be interested in harming us. They appear to be acting as decoys.”

“Shit,” says Steve. They clear the rest of the building, but they cannot find Michael.

“Outside,” says Wanda, sprinting. Steve follows, passing her quickly and making it to the garden just in time to watch as Michael collapses in front of the masked man who is holding a red book.

~*~

Michael was having a pretty good morning, despite Steve waking him up before dawn and forcing him to eat outside before the sun was properly up. Training with Wanda in the afternoon went well; he is holding steady even if he isn’t progressing, and he’s learning to put less pressure on himself.

“You’re doing your best,” assures Wanda. “You always do.”

As he learns to relax about the training, something else starts weighing on his mind, as though it’s incapable of letting him be at peace. As usual, when he finds himself flustered, it’s Steve’s fault. The painting that Steve showed him fills him with a strange sort of longing. Not for the subject of the painting, a place and time he has no attachment to, but for the ability to express himself without words. He wants an art form of his own, a way to create and communicate. He talks to Friday about it.

“I want… I want a way to make art,” he says, stumbling over his thoughts. “Like Steve, but not painting. I want something more physical.”

“Sculpture?” she suggests.

“No. Something…” he’s frustrated. He doesn’t know what he wants.

“Dance?” she suggests. 

He considers it. “I don’t think I’ve ever danced,” he admits. “What is it like?”

She selects various videos for him and he watches them avidly. He enjoys the precision that is required, the way the body is used as a conduit of the music. This is something he could do, his strength and agility used for something beautiful instead of something deadly. He especially likes the movements of ballet, the strength, flexibility, and balance that is required is breathtaking.

“Barnes danced,” he remembers.

“Yes, by all reports he was a good dancer.”

“I could do this. I could be good at this.”

“I agree.”

He feels hopeful almost, imagining what it would be like to master something so pure.

Friday’s voice cuts off mid-word as she is asking him a question, and instinct has him crouching to the floor before the tear gas hits the window. He covers his face and runs, panic driving him forward. He is out of the building and sprinting towards the cover of the garden before his mind comes back online, forcing him to stop. What if Steve is hurt? He needs to check on Wanda. Where is Tony? Is Natasha covering Sam? He shakes his head harshly, placing his hands against his temples. He needs to _leave._ They are here for him. He has to get away before anyone else is put in danger.

Indecision pulls him inwards, dulling his senses, which is why he doesn’t hear the man walk up behind him until the words are already piercing his mind.

_Longing._

It’s different when he isn’t prepared for the words. Sudden grief paralyzes him, and he has no time to think of Steve before—

_Rusted_ has adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him forget Wanda, when—

_Seventeen_ convinces him to ignore Tony who tells him that mind control can fuck itself and—

_Daybreak_ makes him recoil as though he’s been plunged into a charnel house and Vision has no chance as—

_Furnace_ ignites his veins, Natasha laughing at his inability to stop—

_Nine_ sucking all the hope from him as the memory of Zemo is extinguished and—

_Benign_ fills him with a pain so loud he can’t hear Sam anymore, nothing over the sound of—

_Homecoming_ and the loneliness so absolute that Friday can’t stop him before he plunges over the edge and—

_One_ —

He’s going to fail; Barnes who was so strong and good, broke the programming twice just because he loved Steve so much. Powerless, powerless, unlike Barnes who makes Steve feel stronger than the serum ever could. Barnes who glowed like an angel in that small room in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn.

Michael is falling, falling out of his body, but he holds onto Brooklyn.

Steve said Bucky had the meanest left hook in Brooklyn, a tough kid with a smirk you wanted to kiss or knock off his face. Sometimes both.

Michael tries to picture that room, holds onto the painting that Steve showed him as he pulls it around himself. Suddenly he knows what he’ll find there if he can do it. Slowly the room materializes in his mind, and the small details that Steve forgot are there, crisp and concrete.

The couch is ugly as sin, but the man who sits there is beautiful like the angel Steve remembers.

“How the hell did you get here?” Bucky asks angrily, standing up and striding over to push at Michael. “I don’t want you here, go the fuck away.”

“I need you,” says Michael. “I’ve been trying to find you for _months_.”

“Yeah, well I’m not interested. You can have the body, I don’t want it anymore.”

“ _Steve_ needs you,” begs Michael.

Bucky sucks in a breath, but turns his back. “Steve can take care of himself. What does he need me for? I can’t even… I can’t even take care of myself. I can’t fight the words.”

Michael is furious. “I’ve been working hard, training every day to break the programming, and you’re giving up before you even _try_.”

“Look what good it did you,” says Bucky derisively. “It’s happening again, and you can’t stop it any better than I could.”

“I could stop it if you _helped me_.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to help. I’m sick of helping. Tried to help a scrawny weakling with his books once and ended up here. That’s what helping gets you.”

Michael punches Bucky in the face before he can think better. “You don’t talk about Steve that way,” he hisses.

Bucky holds a hand to his jaw, eyes wide. Then tackles Michael, pummeling his face. “I hate you!” he screams. “You stole my life! You stole _everything_!”

Michael doesn’t hit back, just lets Bucky hit him until Bucky is panting, unable to lift his fist again. “You stole it all,” he whispers.

“Then take it back,” says Michael, brokenly. “Take it back. Fight for it, if you want it.”

“I did fight,” says Bucky with a sob. “I always fight. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Then you don’t deserve it.”

Bucky collapses next to him and they lie there, ruined and tired.

“Where is Steve?” Bucky asks, unable to mask the worry in his voice.

“I don’t know. We’re being attacked right now and someone has the book. If they make me attack Steve I don’t think I can stop. I need you with me.”

“Do you really think we can do this?”

“We have to try.”

They both hear the summoning call of _Soldat_ , muffled as though the voice is coming from behind the bedroom door.

“Go give ‘em the meanest left hook in Brooklyn,” says Michael.

Bucky walks to the door, turning back to stare at Michael. Then he grins like a knife and walks through the door.

~*~

Bucky rises, and rises, and rises, feeling the handholds that the soldier has carved for them. It has never been this easy before and he almost allows himself to hope, but he doesn’t get ahead of himself. He focuses on climbing, refusing to feel anything. Behind him he senses the other, the emptiness that is neither him nor the Soldier. It is a cold terror that rises with him, keeping pace, threatening to overtake him.

And then the other is there with him, fighting for the handholds that lead upwards out of the darkness. Bucky grits his teeth, sinks his right hand into the wall and throws a punch with his left, putting everything he has into it.

Without a sound, the other lets go and falls back into the abyss. Bucky continues the climb and then suddenly he is in his body again, crouching on the ground.

He looks up at the man who holds the book.

The man is dressed in all black, his face covered with a tactical mask. The weapons at his side, a cattle prod and a semi-automatic, are strapped in wrong. If the man reaches for the weapons they will get stuck in the straps. He is more likely to hurt himself than anyone else.

“Soldat?” the man repeats, a hint of fear.

Bucky looks past the man and sees Steve running for him. Bucky grins, reaches his left hand forward and grips the man’s testicles in his hand. “You made a big fucking mistake, buddy,” says Bucky, and twists as hard as he can. The man passes out and Bucky picks up the book as he stands.

“Michael!” yells Steve, coming to a halt in front of him, patting his shoulders and looking terrified. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Who the hell is Michael?” asks Bucky, bewildered.

“What?” asks Steve, on the verge of tears.

“Who. The hell. Is Michael?” asks Bucky, flicking Steve in the forehead. “Are you deaf again? Do I need to brush up on my sign language?”

“Bucky?” Steve whispers.

“Got it in two,” says Bucky, looking away from Steve as a young woman joins them.

“Michael?” she asks.

“Who the hell is Michael?” Bucky asks a third time.

“Is Michael alright?” yells Sam, running over.

“Is this a practical joke or something?”

“Bucky?” Steve asks again, voice shaking.

“Yes,” he says, frowning.

Steve throws himself at Bucky, who is not prepared for an armful of very heavy, squirmy man. They drop to the grass and Bucky grunts as the breath is knocked out of him. Steve just buries his face into Bucky’s chest.

“Thank god, thank god,” he murmurs, arms wrapped as tight around Bucky as they’ll go. Bucky hugs Steve back, pleased at the reception despite himself.

“Good to be back,” he wheezes.

“How? How is this possible?” asks Steve, pressing up to look at Bucky in wonder. “Michael has been trying for _months_ to bring you back.”

“Wait, Michael is the soldier? You named the _soldier_?” Bucky starts laughing. “I can’t believe you named it!”

“Him, not it,” corrects the girl who is looking at him oddly. “He is his own person. Not a thing.”

“Right, okay,” says Bucky, pushing at Steve a little so he can sit up. “Who are you?”

“Wanda. I helped Michael break the programming.”

“Thanks.” Bucky’s grateful even if she is giving him the creeps.

“Hey man,” says Sam, grinning. “Good to have you back.”

“Sorry for ditching you in Bucharest. Ran into someone, couldn’t get away. You know how it is.”

“How?” is all Steve can say.

“Uh, well, you know, it just worked out,” Bucky says uncomfortably.

“He wasn’t trying to come back, before,” realizes Wanda.

“What?” says Steve. “No, that’s… Bucky wouldn’t just… Buck?”

Bucky winces and runs a hand through his hair nervously. “What’s the point? I got this shit stuck in my head and it’s never going away, so _what’s the point_? Run away to start a new life and they’ll just find me again. Keep finding me until I die. Might as well just… give them what they want.”

He expects Steve to get angry at him for giving up, but Steve just looks sad. “Oh Bucky,” he says.

“Not all of us can keep getting back up like you, Steve.” Steve just hugs him and Bucky lets himself melt into it. “’m sorry,” he murmurs, but Steve shushes him.

“It’s okay to be tired of fighting. You’ve been through a lot.”

“You’re being… really nice about this,” says Bucky. “You Steve in there, or do you have another dude in your head too?”

“I can be nice!” protests Steve.

“Yeah, you can be nice. Nice and bullheaded.”

“Oh shut up. This is the last time I’m ever going to be nice to you, Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s the first time you’ve ever been nice to me, so I’ll be sure not to get used to it.”

“This is how they flirt,” Sam confides to Wanda, who nods sagely.

“Not flirting,” protests Bucky, who can’t help but notice that Steve remains silent, arms still wrapped around him.

“Where is Michael?” asks Wanda with worry in her voice. Bucky wonders why they care so much.

“He’s alright, still up here somewhere, I think.” The thought does not fill Bucky with joy, but everyone else looks relieved. “I take it he was a popular fella around here?”

“We were getting to know him,” says Steve. “He was nice.”

“He wasn’t nice,” Sam says to Bucky. “He was as rude as Steve.”

“I get why Steve liked him so much, then,” says Bucky glibly. Inside there is the familiar spark of irrational jealousy that always ignites whenever Steve notices someone else, in any capacity. The fact that he’s technically jealous of himself makes the whole thing even more ridiculous.

“Only one jerk in the world for me,” says Steve cheerfully, giving Bucky another squeeze that makes his eyes bug out.

“Punk,” he grunts.

Iron Man lands a few feet away, startling everyone. A few moments later a second suit touches down less gracefully and a small man in a red spandex suit claws his way out. “Never… again,” he pants, lifting up the bottom of his mask to vomit in a rose bush.

“I told you to find a point on the horizon and focus on it. It’s called spotting, kid. Take a dance class.”

“You dance?” Wanda asks with interest.

“I am a man of many passions. So, what the ever loving fuck is going on. I hear we got a Code F, and then I get here and Rogers and Michael are on the ground humping each other. What gives? Does Code F mean something else now?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“We’re not--”

“We were infiltrated by a force of about forty very badly trained combatants,” says Steve, again failing to protest the implication that something is going on with him and Bucky. It’s… it’s interesting, is all. Bucky wonders what it means. Probably nothing.

“Badly trained?”

“Very badly trained,” says the red headed woman who joins them. She looks over at Bucky and raises an eyebrow. “Where did Michael go?”

“How the fuck--” begins Sam, before stopping himself. “Nah, I don’t want to know how you do that.”

“Learn how to read body language,” smirks the woman, cocking a hip and biting a lip at him. Sam coughs gently.

“Is being badly trained significant?” asks the little man in red, apparently done ruining the roses. “Hi I’m Pe--uh! Um, Spiderman” he says, noticing Bucky.

“He’s supposed to be a spider?” he asks Sam quietly.

“I dunno. Everyone’s got a gimmick these days.”

He nods at the kid, who bounces on the balls of his feet cheerfully, still waving at him. “Hi, yeah, nice to meet you,” he says, trying to be polite.

“Badly trained… It’s probably Justin Hammer,” says Tony.

“It’s never Justin Hammer,” sighs Wanda, rolling her eyes.

“It was a _couple_ times.”

“I want to know why they had this book.” Bucky lifts it up and shows it to them.

“What is it?” asks Wanda.

“That is how Zemo gained control of Barnes the first time,” says… a man in a giant black cat suit.

“Whoa,” says Sam, eyebrows shooting up. “You must really like cats.”

“Says the man in a bird suit,” the man in a cat costume responds.

“Bird… _Bird suit_? Seriously?”

“Not my words. Talk to Rogers.”

“ _Steve.”_

“I don’t remember anything,” says Steve, hiding behind Bucky. His arms are still around him and Bucky realizes he probably should have shook Steve off a while ago, but… it’s nice. He’s having a hard time thinking straight.

“I’m T’challa,” the man in the cat suit says, introducing himself to Bucky. “I am King of Wakanda, and the Black Panther.”

“It’s a cool name, but you’re still technically a furry,” says Sam, folding his arms.

“Anyway,” growls T’challa. “That book was left with the JCTC, for safe keeping. It was to be used as evidence to help exonerate Barnes. I find this development highly concerning.”

“Ross,” says Tony.

“I don’t believe Everett--”

“No, not little Ross. Big Ross.”

“If it was Ross you’d think he’d have access to better trained soldiers,” says Steve.

“Unless he’s trying to throw us off by hiring the worst of the worst.”

“Think it’s time we had a talk with some people,” says the red headed woman. She turns to go, every line of her body threatening impending doom.

“Momma’s gonna clean house,” says Tony, clapping his hands together. “Meanwhile, we got a celebration to plan.”

“Celebration?’ asks Steve.

“Gotta welcome Bucky Barnes back in style. Give me a couple days to get everything together so we can do it up right.”

“It’s unnecessary,” says Bucky, but everyone tells him to shut up.

Steve stays plastered to his side for the rest of the day, only letting Bucky step away when they part for the night. Bucky’s having a hard time remembering why he didn’t want to come back.

“See you tomorrow,” says Steve quietly, looking like he’s found the answer to every question he’s ever asked, and it’s the only answer he ever wanted.

Bucky grins back at him. “See you tomorrow, Steve.”


	14. As you wish.

Tony drinks alone in his lab the night that Bucky comes back. It’s hard to admit it, but he’s feeling a strange sort of grief over the loss of Michael. With that realization comes a wave of guilt, because he became attached to the man that killed his parents. What is he supposed to do with these feelings? Where can he hide from himself but inside a bottle of scotch?

Michael, gentle and strange, entranced by Tony’s creations, awestruck by Tony—it’s hard to dislike someone who seems to worship you. It was good for Tony’s ego, a reminder that despite failed relationships and broken friendships, there was someone who didn’t care about his flaws, only saw the good.

“I miss Michael,” Tony says.

“I admit that I feel a sense of loss as well,” Friday responds.

“You liked him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, but he was respectful, which is a quality I appreciate.”

“I’m respectful,” Tony mumbles.

“Of course you are, sir.” The eye roll is audible.

“He was weird and blunt, but I kind of liked it.”

“He did show a particular forthrightness that I found refreshing. It’s hard for me to detect sarcasm and innuendo.”

“You do well enough, most of the time,” comforts Tony.

“Conversation with him was never taxing,” she continues. “Barnes has indicated that he believes Michael to still be present, which is comforting.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we get to talk to him.”

“No,” says Friday.

The silence returns and Tony is considering sleeping on the cot he keeps in the work room, but before he can stand up and wander over Friday informs him there is a visitor requesting access to the lab.

“Who is it?”

“Sergeant Barnes, sir.”

Tony checks the clock and sees that it’s 3am. “Huh. Go ahead and let him in.”

Barnes walks in and Natasha is right about the different body language. He can see it easily now; Michael walks like a kicked dog most of the time, posture small and submissive, defensive. Barnes walks like a soldier, shoulders back, head up. He looks tired though, eyes red, hair in disarray.

“Sorry to intrude, but… she said you were awake and I wanted to talk to you. Is it okay if I take a seat?” Barnes asks, pointing at a stool.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tony says, sitting up. “Scotch?”

“Sure,” says Barnes, taking the bottle from Tony and throwing back most of it in one swig.

“That bad, huh?” asks Tony.

“Had better days,” acknowledges Barnes. “I didn’t want to come back, but here I am. Trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Michael was convinced he’d killed you somehow. He was struggling with a lot of guilt, but I think _that_ was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m glad he was wrong.” Tony takes the bottle back and downs the rest of it.

“Are you?” smirks Barnes.

“Yeah, for Steve’s sake and for Michael’s. I miss him, though.”

Barnes frowns a little, studies his left hand, turning it this way and that to reflect the light. “I don’t understand why everyone liked him so much. He… he was one of the worst things that ever happened to me, and everyone misses him. Even Steve.”

Tony spends a few moments trying to figure out how to be tactful, but gets bored and just says it. “Yeah, he was kinda the worst thing that ever happened to me, too.” Barnes looks up, guilt in his eyes. Tony doesn’t have time for that. “He killed my parents. You didn’t. If you try to apologize to me I’m gonna break this bottle over your head.”

“I remember it like it was me,” says Barnes, looking down at his hands. “It was my hands, even if I couldn’t stop them.”

Tony sighs and fishes around under the couch cushions for the bottle of vodka he vaguely remembers losing there. He pulls it out with triumph and offers it to Barnes who takes it gratefully.

“Can you get drunk? Steve can’t,” asks Tony idly, taking the vodka back from Barnes after he’s taken a pull.

“Yeah, thank god,” says Barnes, grinning at Tony. “I think I’d end it all of I had to be sober for the rest of my life. I don’t know how Steve does it.”

“Did Mr. Goody-two-shoes ever drink?”

“Did Steve drink? Did _Steve_ drink? He’s fucking Irish, of course he drank!” crows Barnes. “Little shit was part of a smuggling ring during prohibition, too. Goody-two-shoes my left arm. No one ever stopped or searched him thanks to that innocent little face of his. Meanwhile, I get stopped by every beat cop we pass, ‘cause I look like I’m ‘up to something’.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” says Tony, jaw dropping.

“God’s honest truth.”

“He’s always giving me shit for drinking,” says Tony, indignant.

“Yeah, probably because he’s jealous.”

“That bastard,” says Tony, grinning a little despite himself. “Got any more dirt on Rogers you wanna share?”

“Gonna cost you more vodka,” says Barnes, making a grabby hand towards the bottle.

“I bet Rogers got a lot of tail in the war,” says Tony, smirking. “He always acts like a blushing virgin, but I bet he was--” Tony makes a vulgar gesture to complete that sentence.

Barnes chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, that’s genuine. He never found a girl he connected with, ‘cept for Pegs. She was dynamite. It’s a shame they never had a chance together. Your father though,” says Barnes, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah?” says Tony intently.

“Howard was a son of a bitch, and I mean that with utmost respect,” says Barnes, placing a hand on his heart. Tony doesn’t take offence, because it’s true. “That man slept with everyone, and I mean everyone. I had my own reputation, but I’m practically virginal compared to Stark.”

“He always gave me shit for having a lot of girlfriends.”

“That’s a riot,” says Barnes, raising his eyebrows. “One time he bought Rogers a… _friend_ for the night.”

“You are shitting me,” breathes Tony. “What happened? Did Steve fondue?”

Bucky laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh god, fondue! I forgot about that!” He wipes at his eyes and continues. “Nah, he didn’t fondue. He spent eight hours of Howard’s money talking to her and ended up convincing her to become a nun.”

“Of course he did,” laughs Tony. “What did dad do?”

“Yelled at Steve for wasting his money.”

“What did Steve do?”

“Told Howard to fuck himself, of course.”

“Man, Steve never talks about dad like this,” says Tony, grinning.

“Eh, Steve believes in respecting the dead. He probably thinks he’s sparing you, or something noble like that.”

“What was dad like when you knew him? What was he _really_ like?”

Bucky takes another thoughtful drink of vodka, swishing it around in his mouth while he thinks. “I had a bit of hero worship going on at first. I was big into science fiction, dreaming about the future, and I figured Stark was going to get us there. Flying cars and robotic houses. Didn’t take long to realize he was a bastard with more money than sense.”

“Hah,” says Tony. “Guess I do take after him.”

“Maybe. I don’t know you well enough to say, but I think you’re a much better man than Howard was. At least the Howard I knew.”

“You didn’t like him much,” guesses Tony.

“Nah, I thought he was fine, for the most part. His heart was in the right place, he just hid everything behind the mask. I don’t think I ever really met Howard Stark. I don’t think anyone did.”

“I don’t know if I ever met him, either,” says Tony, quietly.

“What was he like as a father?” Barnes asks, curiously.

“That’s a fucking tough question to answer,” huffs Tony. “Most of my issues stem from my relationship with my father. Or lack of a relationship. He was distant, when I was young. Critical, withholding. Spent most of his time talking about Steve, about how he wanted me to _be_ like Steve. I was always falling short.”

“Shit,” says Barnes, giving Tony the vodka.

“I don’t think he was ever proud of me,” whispers Tony. “I found an old video that he’d hidden, once. He’d left it for me, told me I was his greatest creation. At the time it was… it felt like he was saying he was proud of me, but now it just feels like…” he waves his hand, trying to get the words to voice the thought. “I’m a thing, not a person. An accomplishment, not his son. I don’t know, I’m talking shit.”

“I can see what you’re saying,” sighs Barnes. “For what it’s worth, I’d be proud of you if you were my son.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head. “You don’t know me.”

“You forgave the man who killed your parents, opened your home to him. Maybe I don’t know everything about you, but I’d say I know everything that’s important.” They drink in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until Bucky sighs. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I have to say it: I’m sorry that… I’m sorry about your parents.”

Tony scratches at his chin, wincing a little. “It’s not something you can apologize for, Barnes.” Barnes looks pained, so Tony clarifies. “I mean it’s not something _you_ can apologize for. Michael already apologized. It’s forgiven, as much as something like that can be.”

“Michael,” Barnes snorts derisively.

“He was a good man,” says Tony, frowning a little. “A little weird, but I liked him.”

“How? _Why?_ ” asks Barnes, incredulous.

“He wanted to be a good person. It’s hard not to like someone who tries so hard.”

“I just… I can’t forgive it. Him. It’s a violation just having him in my head.” Barnes cradles his head in his hands miserably.

“I wish you could meet Bruce. I think you two would understand each other really well.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Do you know anything about the Avengers? The Hulk?”

“A little. I read about some of it when I was learning about Steve.”

“Bruce turns into the Hulk. Big green guy with anger issues, smashy smashy. But Bruce is this sweet little guy, really smart and gentle. It’s a real Jekyll and Hyde situation.”

“Huh, I didn’t really read up about the Hulk that much.”

“Well, the Hulk destroyed a couple cities. Hurt a lot of people.”

“Ah, I see why you think we’d understand each other,” Barnes says a little bitterly, self-deprecating smirk stretching his mouth.

“Bruce really hates the Hulk, can’t stand him.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“But I _love_ Hulk. You see, Hulk is a little clumsy, he gets scared easily and hurts people when he doesn’t mean to, but he wants to be a good guy. He tries so hard.”

“Hulk ever hurt _you_?” asks Barnes sardonically.

“Yeah, a couple times. Smashed me right into a couple buildings, broke a few ribs. I still love him.”

“It’s easier to forgive when it isn’t you. When you’re not the one who has to wake up and see the trail of carnage behind you.”

“Maybe. I’m not saying that I think you should be happy that it’s like this, but I’m trying to get you to understand that this part of yourself that you hate, that’s messed up, that has hurt people—even your Mr. Hyde is trying to be a good guy. I think that tells me everything important that I need to know about _you_.”

They leave it there, both of them feeling raw and vulnerable.

Tony gets into the cot after Barnes leaves and falls asleep immediately. His sleep is dreamless.

~*~

Since he didn’t make it home from the war, Bucky never really got to enjoy his fame; these days with his story plastered everywhere, his misdeeds as the Winter Soldier known to everyone, he’s more likely to be shot on sight than treated like a hero. But he finally gets to experience a little bit of hero worship on the compound from some of the on-site staff, and a red head named Pepper.

“I’m just so pleased to meet you,” she says, shaking his hand for much longer than appropriate. “I’m shaking your hand too long,” she says, giggling awkwardly. Bucky is immediately charmed and he winks at her. She turns scarlet. The woman at her side frowns thunderously and Pepper turns to her, withdrawing her hand finally. “This is my partner, Maria.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” says Maria, shaking his hand. He watches as Maria wraps a possessive arm around Pepper.

“Partner?” he asks, looking between them. “Like… business?”

“Romantic,” clarifies Maria, frowning at him a little, daring him to take issue. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up.

“That so?” he asks.

“That a problem?” challenges Maria.

“Nah, I don’t really care. Just… a little different from my day. Used to be something we didn’t talk about. I had an aunt who was inverted. Her… _partner_ helped pay for my schooling. Real stand up lady.”

Steve walks into the room and sees Pepper and Maria, shouting happily. “You finally asked her out!”

Maria turns back to grin at him brightly. “We’ve been together for a few months now.”

“Aw, I’m so happy,” he says, hugging Maria tight. Pepper is beaming, giggling a little as Steve pulls her into a hug too.

It really isn’t an issue, but Bucky is still taken aback by how comfortable Steve is. They never talked about it but Bucky always assumed that Steve was against this sort of thing. He watches Steve talk happily to the girls about their plans to move in together, asks if they need help moving furniture—it’s all very normal and pleasant. Bucky feels a little unwell, so he pardons himself and heads to his room.

He’s not sure why he feels so displaced. Maybe it’s because he’s being confronted again with how much he’s been disconnected from society. How long has it been okay to… to be like this? Is it okay for men too? Maybe it’s because he feels like he doesn’t know Steve as well as he thought. How long has Steve been comfortable with inverts? Was he always this way?

If he thought he could escape Steve he was sadly mistaken. No sooner has Bucky fallen onto his bed than Steve knocks on his door. “Come in,” grumbles Bucky, apparently too quietly because the knock comes again. “Come in!” he shouts.

Steve opens the door and pokes his head in. “You okay?” He asks anxiously.

“Yeah,” grumbles Bucky. Steve walks in and sits next to him on the bed.

“Is it… was it because they were inverts?” asks Steve, worried.

“What?” asks Bucky, looking at Steve incredulously.

“Maria thought they made you uncomfortable.”

“No, it wasn’t that. Well, not… how long has it been legal?” asks Bucky, frowning.

“A while. It’s still an issue in a lot of places, but… they’re trying to move forward. It’s a lot safer, you can’t be arrested anymore in a lot of countries.”

“For men too?”

“Yeah. Men can get married in New York,” says Steve, grinning. “It’s pretty neat.”

“I didn’t realize that you were okay with it.” Bucky searches Steve’s face, trying to read the expression there.

“As long as no one’s hurting anyone I don’t care what people do.”

“I thought you’d be against it,” confesses Bucky, looking away, feeling embarrassed.

“What? When did I ever make you think that?” Steve sounds horrified.

“I don’t know. You didn’t like Aunt Betty.”

“I didn’t like Betty because she boxed my ears in church when I was thirteen. I didn’t care that she was _that way_.”

“Oh.” Is all that Bucky can say.

“Did… are you?” Steve says, awkwardly. Bucky darts a glance at Steve, who is turning red. “Because if you are, I don’t care. You’re my best friend. There’s nothing wrong with being that way. At all.”

Bucky snorts. “Are you that way?” He’s being flippant, not expecting Steve to answer.

“Yes,” says Steve quietly.

Bucky bolts upright, flabbergasted. “ _What?_ ”

“Yes, I’m that way,” says Steve, chin set at a stubborn angle like he thinks Bucky is going to fight him.

“Oh my god,” groans Bucky, dropping his head into his hands. “I worked so hard to find you dates, and it was useless the entire time. Why did you let me work so hard?” he demands, glaring at Steve.

Steve looks taken aback, mouth hanging open slightly. “You don’t care?”

“Of course I care! Do you know how awkward it was, always having to ask women out _for_ you? Having to walk _your_ dates home?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I mean you don’t care that I’m an invert.”

“Of course I don’t care,” says Bucky, waving that off. “God, I feel like a chump.”

Steve giggles. “I haven’t told anyone else. Natasha keeps trying to set me up with women, and I… I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m not very interested in women.”

“Oh? What about Peggy?” needles Bucky. “Or _Sharon_?”

“Not interested in _most_ women,” corrects Steve smoothly.

“Well, now I know, so it’ll be easier to get you dates that you’ll actually appreciate.”

Steve snorts. “I’m still not really interested in dating. I’m happy as I am.”

Bucky raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket, Steve.”

“Shut up,” Steve laughs, smacking Bucky on the arm.

“You’re a catch! You shouldn’t deprive the world of your undeniable charms,” coos Bucky.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Undeniable charm, right there,” says Bucky, smacking Steve back. They get into a scuffle that only ends when Bucky accidentally elbows Steve in the face, giving him a bloody nose. It just makes them laugh harder as they stand in the bathroom, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Bucky’s bad mood disappears after that and he tries not to think too hard about why. It’s easier not to hope for impossible things.

He just focuses on enjoying spending time with Steve while he still can.

~*~

If Steve thought he’d caught a break, he was dead wrong. He gets a week to enjoy his life, start healing again, before Bucky takes him for a walk in the garden and the other shoe drops.

“I’m gonna head out Saturday night,” says Bucky. “Figure I’ll make my way up to Canada and see where I feel like going after that.”

“What?” Steve feels like he’s falling.

“It’s time for me to move.”

“You… but you like it here, right? Why would you leave?” _This can’t be happening._

“Steve, we talked about this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now, isn’t it?” _Please god no_.

“Steve--”

“Bucky, you just got back!”

“You told me you’d let me leave without giving me problems, Steve.”

“I said I’d let you go, I never said I wouldn’t try to stop you… Bucky, come on _. Please_.”

“Please don’t do this to me, Steve.”

Steve growls and runs his hands through his hair, gripping it and pulling a little in frustration. “Fine, fine, okay. You’re gonna go, I understand. But stay a little longer, _please_? Tony is throwing a party for you next Wednesday. Stay for that, at least. Please.”

“Shit, fine,” says Bucky, throwing his hands up in the air. “I should have known you’d do this.”

“Yeah, you should have,” grumbles Steve. Usually when they get into a fight like this they spend a day avoiding each other, but this time they don’t. They both sense their time running out, so they remain together in sullen silence that is eventually broken when Bucky trips over a tree root and Steve mocks him mercilessly. Bucky punches him in the shin and they get into a scuffle that leaves them both breathless with laughter.

Steve manages to forget that Bucky is leaving until Thursday night. He has a panic attack alone in his room, screaming into his pillow.

The party is a Stark party, meaning there is too much food and booze, a random assortment of people that no one recognizes, and questionable life decisions that will be regretted in the morning. Bucky gets shitfaced and passes out on the couch, so Steve carries him back to his room and tucks him in. The next morning Bucky has a hangover and agrees to stay until Saturday.

Sam gets injured on an assignment Friday night, so Bucky stays for another two weeks while Sam recovers in the medical wing. He sits with Sam and reads dirty magazines to him, and Steve sits with them smiling gently as the other two laugh uproariously. He knows it is borrowed time, but he’s so grateful, unable to bring himself to feel guilty for it. Sam is alive and will make a full recovery, so what does it matter?

One of the plates on Bucky’s arm develops a weird tremor the night that he’s supposed to leave, something going wrong with the system that synchs everything up, so he has to stay for a few weeks while Stark runs diagnostics and comes up with a work-around. Stark ends up having to dismantle most of the arm and replace a lot of components, which have to be bought or machined. Bucky is frustrated, but Steve is ecstatic.

Before Bucky can leave, Natasha comes to him and asks him for help on something that she refuses to talk to Steve about. “It’s Avengers business; you’re retired, so you keep your nose out of it, Rogers.” Bucky isn’t talkative about it either, but Steve knows that it has something to do with the incident on the compound, probably one of the prisoners finally giving up information. He’s happy not to press since it buys him a few more weeks with Bucky.

They make it to the end of June before Bucky makes plans to leave again.

“Please stay for my birthday,” begs Steve.

“I will stay for your birthday and then I’m gone. No excuses,” says Bucky, and Steve knows he means it this time.

Stark wants to throw a big party for Steve, but Steve decides that what he really wants is a quiet movie night with the team. They have a barbecue, watch some fireworks, and then filter inside to watch a movie.

“What are we watching, as if I can’t already guess?” asks Tony, sounding put upon already.

“Princess Bride,” says Steve, smirking at Tony.

“I hate you,” says Tony.

Bucky loves the film, of course, just like Steve knew he would. He laughs at all the jokes, gets choked up when Inigo finally gets the six fingered man, and cheers when the heroes ride off into a happily ever after. It doesn’t hurt that Cary Elwes looks a lot like Errol Flynn, who was always one of Bucky’s favorite actors.

“Damn good film,” says Bucky happily.

“I _knew_ you’d like it.”

“I identified with Inigo,” says T’challa, poking around in the popcorn bowl for unpopped kernels, which he seems to enjoy crunching much to Tony’s distress.

“If anyone is Inigo it’s me,” says Tony.

“Yes, but I caught my six-fingered man. Your six fingered man turned out to be less of a six-fingered man and more of a Dread Pirate Roberts,” T’challa points out with unassailable logic.

“Hey, if anyone is Westley it’s _me_ ,” says Steve.

“Bullshit,” says Bucky. “I’m Westley.”

“No way!”

“Can I be Miracle Max if I can’t be Inigo?” asks Tony.

“I rescued you, so I’m Westley,” says Steve firmly.

“I survived the pit of despair, came back from the dead, and also I’m way more badass than you,” says Bucky with finality.

“Okay, if I’m not Westley than who am I?” says Steve, raising an eyebrow.

“Princess Buttercup, obviously,” says Bucky.

“What? Why the hell am I Princess Buttercup?” Steve shouts incredulously.

“Perfect breasts,” says everyone in unison, as though they planned it.

“You’re all horrible,” says Steve, crossing his arms and pouting.

“When you cross your arms like that they really perk up,” says Sam, poking at Steve’s left pec. Steve slaps his hand.

“No touching,” Steve snaps.

“No touching,” Sam repeats, holding his hands up in the air.

They all get into a heated debate about who is who, and Bucky nearly manages to sneak out without Steve noticing.

Steve catches up to him as he’s shoving some clothes into a backpack. “Don’t,” says Bucky.

“I won’t,” says Steve sadly.

Steve walks him to the garage, giving him the keys to the motorcycle. “Really?” asks Bucky.

“What, you’re gonna walk to Canada?”

“I was going to steal one of Stark’s cars,” grins Bucky mischievously.

Steve smiles but can’t stop his lip from trembling. He’s white knuckling it, trying to keep it together for Bucky. “You stay safe. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call.”

“It’s not goodbye forever, Steve. I just need some time to figure out what I’m going to do. We’ll see each other again,” Bucky says. Steve feels like it’s a lie, but he nods.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s happening, Steve has run out of time. He remembers the promise he made to himself that he’d confess to Bucky, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. It’s almost like being back on the train, watching Bucky dangling, trying so hard to reach forward, missing by inches.

“I want you to live your life, Steve. I want you to find someone to love, and… get a dog, and a better haircut, and a shirt that actually fits you.”

Steve laughs so he doesn’t cry.

“Steve, you have to promise me that you’re going to be happy.”

He wants to say the words, he has to say the words, but all he can say is “As you wish.”

It’s cheesy and he regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He stares down at the ground so he doesn’t have to look at Bucky. The silence is painful, like a rejection.

“Steve?” breathes Bucky.

“I just… I need you to know that you’re…” Steve inhales shakily, steels himself for one more act of courage. “You’re everything to me. You’re my north star, my home, my gravity. I’m gonna try to do what you asked me to, I’ll try to be happy, but...” Steve looks up at Bucky who looks horrified. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I’m never going to love anyone as much as I love you.”

Steve stands there in front of Bucky, exposed like a nerve, frightened and heart sick. Bucky swallows thickly, hand clenching at his side. Then he drops the keys and his bag, takes three steps to Steve and pulls him into a kiss that’s almost painful. For a few moments Steve is frozen in shock, eyes wide, and then he lets out a moan. He pulls Bucky to him as tightly as he can, kissing back clumsily but with passion.

The kiss is objectively bad; Steve has no technique, Bucky’s beard keeps getting in his mouth and they both taste like the garlic and blue cheese fries they had with dinner, but it’s still the best kiss of Steve’s life. If this was the only kiss he could ever have, he’d choose it over and over again. Bucky pulls back a little.

“You always wait until the last fucking minute to do anything important,” whispers Bucky against his mouth. “I oughta box your ears.”

“Shut up and keep kissing me, jerk,” Steve murmurs back.

“Punk,” says Bucky, obliging him. They stand there, perfectly entwined for long, blissful minutes.

Finally they reach a point where they are sated enough to step back and process the new development. They wear identical looks of bewildered lust.

“When the fuck did you… _when_?” Bucky asks brokenly, unable to get the full sentence out.

“Not sure. Probably when you bullied me into being your friend.”

“That long?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, you lummox?” Bucky asks, smacking the back of Steve’s head.

“It didn’t ever seem important enough. I didn’t think you felt anything like that for me, so I figured I’d be happy enough just being your friend. I… I’m not really, uh,” Steve blushes, not sure how to explain it. “I think they call people like me asexual.”

“Clarify,” demands Bucky.

“Don’t really want or need sex, I guess.”

“Huh,” says Bucky, considering. “But you’re in love with me.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t want…” Bucky waves a hand.

“Not really.”

“But kissing?”

“Feels nice, and I want to be close to you.”

“Huh,” says Bucky again. “Okay, guess we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

“We?” asks Steve hopefully.

“You’re gonna have to push me off a train again to get rid of me,” says Bucky firmly.

Steve blanches, wide eyed. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Bucky smirks at him. “What, it was funny!”

“That was the least funny thing anyone has ever said, ever,” says Steve seriously.

“I’d give my left arm to take it back,” says Bucky, solemnly. Steve snorts, despite himself.

“You are a menace,” he whispers, awestruck. He leans forward to kiss Bucky again gently, then steps back. “You’re staying?”

“Might as well. Need to keep your dumb ass out of trouble, after all.”

“My dumb ass is all yours,” says Steve, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What, it was funny,” murmurs Steve, kissing Bucky again.

Kissing Bucky is never going to get old, he thinks, right before Bucky blows a raspberry right in his mouth. They both start cackling, getting into a slap fight that ends with Steve getting Bucky into a head lock. “Say I’m Dread Pirate Roberts!” Steve shouts.

“I’ll die before I say that!” growls Bucky.

Eventually they make it back inside, discovering that the team is watching _Labyrinth_. They sit down together, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying a (mostly) quiet evening with friends.

They’re finally home.


	15. Credits and After Credit Scene

 

 

"Every Other Freckle" by _Alt-J_

I want to share your mouthful

I want to do all the things your lungs do so well

I’m gonna bed into you like a cat beds into a beanbag

Turn you inside out and lick you like a crisp packet

 

You’re the first and last of your kind

(Pull me like an animal out of a hole!)

I wanna be every lever you pull

And all showers that shower you

Gonna paw paw at you

Like a cat paws at my woolen jumper

Be your Minpin

And borrower of handsome trivia

 

Ooh, devour me

Aaah

Lou Lou, let the cover girls sing

 

All hand claps

You will clap

(Let me be the wallpaper that papers up your room)

I want to be every button you press

And all the baths that surround you

Yes, I’m gonna roll around you

Like a cat rolls around saw-dusted patios

I’m gonna kiss you like the sun browns you

 

Oh devour me

Oh devour me

If you really think that you can stomach me

 

I want every other freckle x 8

I want every other freckle on you

 

After Credits Scene

Oh, well hello there, gentle reader. My name is _Wade Wilson_ , and I’m here to let you know that the next story is going to feature _moi_. It’ll be full of romance, adventure, dismemberment, unrealistic sex, tongues battling for dominance, angst, horror, chimichangas, forth wall breaks, death, sex pollen—

Wait, no, I’m being informed that it will not contain sex pollen—

Sorry, no sex pollen, no sex pollen.

But there will be guns and Golden Girls _._

Stay tuned for Part Two of the _Limerance_ series, bitches! Wilson _out._


End file.
